The colours of love

Lexi Thompson stood in front of her latest canvas, paint-splattered apron wrapped around her waist, eyes narrowed in frustration. The colors seemed dull, the composition uninspired, and the entire piece felt like a rehashing of every mediocre art student's final project. She'd been working on it for weeks, pouring her heart and soul into it, but it just wasn't coming together.

With a sigh, Lexi stepped back from the canvas, her eyes scanning the cluttered studio apartment she called home. Paints, brushes, and canvases covered every available surface, with scraps of paper, torn-up sketches, and discarded paint tubes littering the floor. It was a chaotic space, but it was hers, and she felt most alive when surrounded by the trappings of her art.

But alive wasn't exactly the word she'd use to describe her current state. Struggling, maybe. Frustrated, definitely. Discouraged, absolutely. The art world was a cruel mistress, and Lexi felt like she was constantly fighting an uphill battle to get noticed, to get recognized, to get paid.

She'd graduated from art school three years ago, full of hope and idealism, convinced that her talent and passion would be enough to propel her to stardom. But the reality was harsher. Gallery owners didn't return her calls, collectors didn't bite, and the few commissions she'd managed to scrounge up barely covered her rent.

Lexi's phone buzzed, shrill in the silence. She hesitated for a moment before answering, already knowing who it would be.

"Hey, Mom," she said, forcing a brightness into her voice that she didn't feel.

Her mother's voice was warm and concerned on the other end of the line. "Hey, sweetie, how's it going? I haven't heard from you in a while."

Lexi sighed inwardly. She loved her mother, but she didn't want to have this conversation. Not now, when she was feeling so vulnerable and unsure.

"It's going, Mom," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Just working on some new pieces, trying to get my name out there."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Lexi, honey, I know it's tough, but you can't give up. You're talented, and your art is beautiful. Someone will notice eventually."

Lexi felt a lump form in her throat. Her mother had always been her biggest supporter, and it killed her to disappoint her.

"I know, Mom," she said, trying to sound convincing. "I just need to keep pushing, that's all."

They chatted for a few more minutes, Lexi's mother offering words of encouragement and support. When they finally hung up, Lexi felt a little better, but the doubts still lingered.

She turned back to her canvas, eyes scanning the uninspired colors and composition. Maybe it was time to take a break, clear her head, and come back to it with fresh eyes. Or maybe it was time to admit that this piece just wasn't working and move on to something new.

The uncertainty was suffocating. Lexi felt like she was drowning in a sea of self-doubt, with no lifeline in sight.

Just as she was about to give up for the day, a knock at the door broke the silence. Lexi's heart sank. She wasn't expecting anyone, and she didn't feel like dealing with anyone right now.

But the knock came again, more insistent this time. With a sigh, Lexi made her way to the door, paint-splattered apron and all.

She opened the door to find a courier standing in the hallway, a large envelope clutched in his hand.