But lately, there's been a box of watercolours sitting on the top of my shelf that seems to catch my eye every time I open my closet doors. They've barely been touched, once opened for an art project a year or two ago. But lately, every time I see them, something stirs within my heart. I need to paint with those, I think. I need to hold those watercolours in my hand and allow my heart to pour onto the white paper.
And so today I gave in, and I made my way to the art store to buy watercolour paper and some new brushes. I waited excitedly in the lineup (which just so happened to be incredibly long), wondering what I'd paint with my new supplies. And so tonight I finally pulled up my laptop for some inspiration, opened up the empty book of paper, and dug out my watercolours. And my heart is stirring. It's asking me to open it up, to discover what's trying so desperately to get out.
And then I think to myself,
Maybe I am an artist afterall.