Brushfire Rebel Canvas

The brush drags its own heart across the canvas, as if it were a flame that cannot be contained. I hear the wind whispering against the blinds, turning my thoughts into bursts of color that refuse to be muted. Each stroke feels like a declaration that my inner tempest deserves a place in the world, even if it scorches the edges of convention. I stand on the roof at dusk, watching the sky bleed into a riot of rebellious hues, and I know that creation is both my refuge and my rebellion. #Brushfire 🌌