The paint ran down the wall like tears slowly down a face covering all in its path with its inkiness and glue like texture. The color was black. The depth of which was seen only in dreams had late at night when the moon was hiding its face.
It started as a drip, built into a stream, moving faster and faster, widening out, moving along, covering more and more.
No one noticed when the paint started making it's journey down until it was too late. The blackness had spread too far. It would never be able to be cleansed all away.
A sad state of affairs, to the one looking on, seeing such a thing of potential beauty being covered by the deep, dark blackness.
How does it happen, not able to see what is right in front of you? Only that person knows. It is their story to tell when the time comes.
Until that happens to pass, hard work, determination, and pain will be needed to start the cleaning process. It might even take a lifetime.
I'm hoping not.
Much Love,
Snook