To see what it feels like.

Do you think I could repaint myself?

No, no, think about it. 

If I dipped my finger into a bucket and smeared it across a vast blank canvas, wouldn't that be nice? 

I could swipe, loop, swirl, strike, drag at the stiff white surface. You know, doodle, I've always been rather good at that. Build a foundation, fill the spaces in between the broad lines.. Nothing too intricate though, that comes later, once the base has set. A clean base.

Oh, but I wouldn't use colours, oh no. I'd use thoughts, feelings, sounds. 

The only trouble is this canvas I already have. I've had it for a while, it was always my favorite. It is not bare. It is not simple. The strokes are deep, slow, well-thought out. Careful, almost hesitant. That was the base, I remember. The next few layers are the most beautiful I've ever seen. Shapes that don't exist in the human world, sounds and sights only the stars have heard and seen. It's breath-taking, how they weave around and throughout each other, embracing, molding into each other. Taking shape. Growing. You could almost see a heartbeat, it was so alive. 

The topmost layer is the reason I have to let it go sometime. But I can't. The newest additions to the canvas are shining, still wet. They are beautifully terrible. More intricately woven than the finest lace. Graceful, gentle in such a way that it pierces your core at a single glance.

I stare at it all day.

It will come off its hook eventually, give up its honoured place on my wall to a greater artwork, perhaps. It will rest in the attic, mostly forgotten. Eventually. For now, I'll stare at it all day.

Maybe I should look into some new paints. Just in case.

Maybe.