Today I painted.
I didn’t clean.
The dust is still on the bookcase. The dust is still on the mantle. The dust is still on the kitchen floor. I walked away from the stack of books to be sorted for school. I walked away from the blue toothpaste splattered on the mirror in the bathroom. I walked away from the laundry tub of white socks waiting to be put away.
I walked down the stairs to the basement and sat down in front of my easel.
I painted.
Three hundred and four years later, I walked back up the stairs and washed my hands.
I would like to show you the painting. I can not take a photograph of it today because the battery for my camera is dead. I can not find the battery charger. I think the battery charger is in the same place as my hammer.
Tomorrow I will paint again.
Tomorrow I will paint for a thousand years.
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