Wasted Dreams

An empty canvas stretches as far as he can see. Every color he desires is at his disposal in a moments notice. All shades imaginable linger on his fingertips, itching to grace the blank slate. Hesitant to mar this pure section of cloth, even to create his masterpiece, he allows the colors to come alive in his own fantasy. They go swirling and twirling, this way and that. Purples, blues, reds, and oranges begin to shape the magnificent arrangement. With every stroke beauty is brought into existence. He shapes and molds a story of a heartache mended. He aspires for greatness and it is greatness he attains. All his dreams and plans are clearly laid out before him. As he once more opens his eyes, he is faced with a stark reality. Empty, blank, vacant, bare, a void stares wildly back at him. No strokes of color great his gaze. All his dreaming was for naught. The imagination that created the stunning sensation betrayed its visionary.