Her need to paint was her compulsion. My need to see her happy was mine. She painted on paper, on canvas, the furniture, the walls, the windows.
Her parents blamed me for enabling her. “She needs medication.” “The house looks ridiculous.”
But all that mattered was that painting kept her calm.
“Look at her, splattered in colour everywhere, streaks on her hair and under hair nails.”
Yes, look at her, so beautiful, so radiant, a piece of art.
Then one day the brush slipped out of her fingers, and her work here was done.
I painted her on the outer wall, for the world to see. My gorgeous wild artist.
So beautiful, so radiant, a piece of art.
In response to Bikurgurl’s 100 Word Wednesday: Week 87 photo prompt