"Doodle in my head as I lost my way,
You tell me it is heaven when I found it hell"
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A sigh escaped my lips as I looked at the painting in front of me. The creepy feelings crawling to my heart as I sit in my father's rocking chair gazing into his eyes.
He wanted to make a painting of a man. It was a faceless man. Anyone can tell that by how the texture of shirt hugged is upper body. A doodle drew over a place where his face should be. And I despise realizing I feel the same about this painting. Why he wanted to make this before he died? He could have made anything- a flower, a vase, mom's portrait. But, he decided to choose himself over everything and pour his feelings over a simple painting which could be useless and important at the same time, for people like me.
Swirling the glas
