Relearning Hope Through Art

I stopped believing in second chances the day my hands forgot how to paint. Three years of staring

at blank canvases, three years of color feeling like a language I'd unlearned. The accident didn't

just take my confidence, it took the one thing that made me feel alive. Then Marcus started

working the morning shift at the art supply store I'd been avoiding. He had this habit

of humming while restocking shelves, always off-key, always completely unbothered.

I only went in for pencils. Safe. Controllable. No commitment.

He noticed my hands shaking as I reached for the graphite. Didn't say anything, just slid a sketchbook

across the counter with his employee discount already applied. Thursday mornings