The large casement windows were the only source of light in this smeared and stained floored house. The walls were occupied by paintings and stains of a beautiful past. There sat an artist on the floor, engrossed in painting a vibrant figure on a canvas laid on the ground in front of him. The artist had focused expression as he was surrounded by brushes, paints, and perhaps a palette on the side as he poured all of his thoughts and feelings on an empty canvas in front of his eyes that started to fill with colours. His long hair was tied up in a half man bun as he aggressively painted the canvas, giving it life with every stroke of his brush, pouring all of the colours without measurements like his emotions, pain and aggression. He would blend the various colours and mess it all and try to handle it with his brush, just how he had always been handling his diverse outpouring emotions. He wouldn't mind if it all would get ruined because none of it would still match the extent of his life. He tried to hold up his brush for life and never gave his hand a minute to stop, vigorously moving it and swiping the dripping colours on the plain canvas of a human size, laid on the ground beneath him.

No matter how hard he would try to form this figure on the canvas, all of his paintings would always lack one thing that makes him want to try again and again. Try again to picture a particular figure that keeps him awake till this night. He tried so hard to paint down this beauty like a Greek God but would always fail to match the level of beauty that he owned in real life. He would fail to touch the similarity. To him he worshiped this person like a madman and till this day he can't paint him down like he wants to, always lacking his essence that makes painting look lifeless.

He sat back after attempting to draw something and he glanced down at his creation, chest heaving up and down as he tried to grasp what he did while trying to catch his breath, unmanageable like his thoughts. He stared down at the beautiful face he created, the craving to touch him left his heart throbbing painfully rough inside of his chest. The cherry lips, the deep hazel eyes, the pretty silk brown locks, the round cheeks, the sculpted salient features, the beauty was untouchable. To an average person his finished work of art would be beyond words of description but to the artist, it just couldn't even stand anywhere near his beloved so he started enhancing the meaningfulness of the painting again, working on slightest of detail by pouring all of his attention. From minutes to hours, the time passed away effortlessly. He immersed himself too much into it but he just couldn't be satisfied no matter how hard he would try. Not being able to succeed, he finally gave up on his painting like this person on the canvas but he didn't want to give up on his feelings, on his love for him. No he just can't.

He literally gave life to this canvas with a wild amount of different colours, with time and hard work but then again he hung his head low defeatedly, tears flowing down as he gave up on touching that painting for longer. No matter how hard he tries he just can't touch his level of beauty, though the creations always resembled but the essence was always missing. He gave up completely and dropped his brush down like the tears of his eyes. Just like all those paintings filled in his house, all of his walls, he painted this long lost person that he can't have back again. He's trying to paint down all of his memories. All of his beloved's beauty into these canvases with the help of the colours of his emotions. But he can't, he just can't replace his memories with these paintings and like all the other days, he laid down in remorse and longingness. He has never loved someone this much and that love was not with him anymore, leaving him to shed tears of helplessness. His life faded away the colours long ago, no matter how hard he tries to colour it back again but he's left all black in darkness and all those colours on the ground can't brighten up his world again like they used to. They all just make no sense. To him his art makes no sense.

The day an artist loses his faith in his art, he experiences his first death and this one artist was dead long ago.