Work Text:
Deep greys and blues settle on her like a coat of sadness she can’t paint over. She is canvas; she is a home that has grown emptier. She is loss, and she finds herself. Calling home to what isn’t anymore. Listening to The World Goes Madly On, singing along. She is art and artist. The colors blend in her frame, muddled. The happy home autumn wreath tries to keep the sadness out. Bought happiness is no shield against sorrow, though she clings to it like the candles’ scent clings to her pillows. It all mingles and drips down her frame.