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“He painted until his cursive brushes were only whispers of rawness on the thin ivory. Only the walls and the ravens that watched knew the boy with the paint-stained palms weaved his art onto his sketchpad on the park bench at lunchtimes, and only the trees whispered it like a prayer.” — Grace Curley
He painted until his cursive brushes were only whispers of rawness on the thin ivory. Only the walls and the ravens that watched
knew the boy with the paint-stained palms weaved his art onto his sketchpad on the park bench at lunchtimes, and only the trees
whispered it like a prayer.