MY PAINT BRUSHES

I wake up to the soft light filtering through my curtains, feeling the last traces of sleep as I stretch out slowly. The house is quiet, the kind of calm that comes with early mornings, and the air feels cool against my skin. As I sit up, I suddenly remember how I left my brushes soaking in a bowl last night after a long evening of work.

I slip out of bed, my feet touching the cold floor, and head toward the kitchen. There’s something oddly peaceful about seeing the brushes still sitting there, bristles submerged in water, just as I left them. Each one is a different size, worn from hours of use, patiently waiting for the next round.

The morning light falls softly on the bowl, creating delicate reflections on the surface of the water. Without thinking, I grab my phone to capture this quiet scene. I hold it up and frame the picture carefully, wanting to preserve this small, forgotten moment. I take the shot—just a snapshot of how I left things last night, a reminder of my routine, my process.

The image captures the quiet beauty of the in-between moments, the pauses between creativity and rest. It’s just a bowl of brushes, but it feels like more—a glimpse into the rhythm of my day.