Storyteller: An Awakened Passion

{A post in which I attempt the art of descriptive phrases, "the feeling of being rained upon and not the fact that it's raining," and all that writing whatnot. I'm not good at this sort of stuff yet, but everyone's got to start somewhere, right?}

{Photo source: 1}

The old man dipped the brush into a colour. With a flourish and the steadiness of years of experience, he lifted the brush. A rich, vibrant purple appeared on the canvas. He switched to a new colour—a bold orange. Then streaks of yellow. Then pink. Then a calming, serene blue over it all. Dabs of white and some more blue. Despite the man’s frail appearance, his hands moved with passion and skill. I watched in awe as, slowly, the colours formed and blended beautifully—exactly the way he intended them to. A few more strokes and there it was: a dazzling summer sunset, perfectly recreated onto a simple canvas. It was a masterpiece. Right then and there, I realized that that was what I wanted to do. I wanted to paint like that, to be able to breathe life into paints and brushes and make things as amazing as that sunset—maybe even more so. A new passion was awakened within me, and I swore it would never die down. It was a moment that changed me forever.