red spews from my fingertips and dances across the canvas in such a delicate manner that i believe that if i touch it, it may ruin in a way that's unfixable. the softness of the brushes tickle my fingertips and they lose their purpose, for i am terrified to use them for the same reason i am scared to touch the paint. the energy in me is something beautiful, ignited far more easily by the task than it had ever been. the beauty of the image on the stretched-across-wood fabric, vastly different from the idea that was there when it was begun; but, lovely. lovelier than any imagery my mind could conjure. the strokes on the area decorating the shades of eggshell with ruby and sapphire hues, blending together to create a lilac sky.