Park, paint and coffee | Teen Ink

Park, paint and coffee

October 28, 2017
By ethereal_dar GOLD, Manila, Other
ethereal_dar GOLD, Manila, Other
11 articles 0 photos 6 comments

Shoot. The crowd's noise interrupts my reverie. The loud voices of the window shoppers are creeping the hell out of me. Everything was loud and unorganized. It was a busy Sunday sale that kept me wandering here inside the mall to buy discounted clothes. The clothes are painted pastels; most are nudes and some are black-and-whites. The fast food chains are full of customers and I could feel the cold breeze of the air-conditioned building. Amidst the crowded place, I decided to walk my way out of the door.



Parked. The car I drove ten minutes ago is parked here in the amusement park. I brought my keys with me as I wandered off the beautiful scenery. The people here wore sophisticated clothes combined with dark make ups. There is something in their eyes telling me their griefs and agony. I looked around and sight the black art exhibit displayed behind me. I entered the door and saw nothing but neon artistry. For a moment, I feel isolated inside a morbid room. The exhibit was pretty appealing to my eyes due to its dark paintings. The neon lines are abstract and serves as a stroke of hope. I wondered, how does it feels like to paint something like this? I am trapped by its beauty. I am trapped by its darkness, a beautiful darkness. I touched one of those and felt something cold.



Coffin. The texture of the board is just like a wooden coffin. A wooden coffin that was penetrated by an unhappy corpse. It is rough and cold just like a rusty steel. I touched one, and one, and more, and more. The feeling of touching the paintings are complacent. It is like a self satisfaction of the painter that appreaciates his own work. The aura is dark yet it delivers an obscured message that is needed to be figured out. Thirsty of truth and curiosity, I touched it one last time. One last time, I could see the neon turns black.
"Anna." I looked at my mom, surprised and agitated. "It's four o clock in the morning and you're still up with your coffee. Put your pen down." I grinned and closed my notebook, "Goodnight Belle."

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