Val

Valorie had never had such a difficult time creating the art that she loved as she did now. For so long Ross was her muse, she loved to make him sit down in her studio on the weekends to sketch him. A large, uneven stack of sketches and paintings of Ross sat collecting dust in the corner of her art studio. 

She had promised him that she would draw him for as long as they both live. Val sighed, pulling a blank piece of paper out of one of the drawers. It had a faint sketch of Ross on it; she had started the piece the day before his mysterious death. Valorie got up and placed the paper on the pile in the corner. She no longer had any intention of ever finishing it.

Val sighed and sat back down, she felt guilty not making art, but whenever she tried she couldn’t. Depression, grief, and art block had become best friends inside her head and heart.