The Evening Star

Calla's POV

My paintbrush glides over the canvas, an outlet for the flood of emotions coursing through me. Each trace is an admission, a hidden truth revealed in shades of red, cobalt, and jade. In the isolation of my Brooklyn atelier, I put my emotions onto the virginal canvas, creating a reflection of my soul.

Crafting art is my refuge, a place where I can be myself without apology. With each color trail, I release repressed emotions, secret dreams, and hidden desires that I don't dare to express. The canvas accepts them all and transforms them into something magical, honest, and true.

As I retire to examine my work, I am struck by the tableau's strength. The colors seem to vibrate with vigor, and the pigment trails are almost frenzied in their zeal. It reflects the struggle within me—the unwavering need for something beyond my grasp, something inexpressible.

I've always felt like an outsider, a spectator to life rather than an engaged participant. While my peers pursued transient relationships and frivolous joys, I sought consolation in the world of art. It was my haven, shielded from public expectations and criticism.

However, even my beloved artwork hasn't been able to soothe my growing worry. There is an emptiness and a need for a link stronger than color on canvas. I want to be recognized, understood, and loved for the difficult, flawed, and passionate woman that I am.