Her brush dipped down on the canvas, her wrist creating elegant strokes that wove perfectly into the rest, constructing a picture of her own beautiful creation. Looking up, away from her composition, her eyes fell on the most fascinating painting. One that had hung on her studio wall for years and years. She was aware suddenly of her world of black and white, the only color to grace her eyes in years being that one, gorgeous painting. Her heart sank as she looked behind her at a stack of her own art piled against the wall, left forsaken. She sighed, taking her newly finished mural and placing it in the ever-growing collection. Hers would never, could never, match up.

Taking a fresh canvas and placing it on her easel, she began again. Painting after painting after painting went by, and the pile continued to grow in size. Flicking her eyes up to that one glorious painting, her eyes filled with tears. She would never, could never, match up.

Frustrated and sad, she left her quiet studio, determined to take a walk to cool down a little and maybe find inspiration as well.

The time had to be around mid afternoon, and the sun beat down on her from above. Nothing filled the open skies, but still she could not see the color in it. All she knew was black and white. Her heart sank a little further as she continued to walk.

She did not think as she walked, and so she found herself surprised as she set foot on the beach, and even more so to see a carnival set upon it. She walked in, glancing around at the many different booths that lay out across the sand before her. The first one to catch her eye happened to be one filled with children. A finger painting stall. She felt herself come to a stop as she watched each smiling little face as their papers filled with indiscernible designs.

She watched one child in particular, a boy no more than five, as he held up his recently finished painting, showing it off with pride for everyone to see. He had so much happiness for such a pitiful illustration.

She felt something inside her begin to awaken; something she had not known in many years. Something she had not been aware of since she was hardly more than the boy's age. Lost in thought, she turned and began to make her way home.

Stepping into her studio, she took in a deep breath, looking up at the only color in her life. She tore her eyes away almost immediately, knowing that it would not help her get to where she needs to go now.

She put a canvas in place and pulled out her paint, ready to begin a new piece of art. This painting, she knew, would be enough. She would be enough.

Her heart beat loudly in her chest as she felt happiness begin to fill her soul and mind. Though as she finished the depiction, she looked upon it and felt an all-too-familiar feeling overtake her. She jerked her eyes up to the captivating painting that had for so long captured her heart; the only color in which she could ever see. Tears began to fill her eyes as she took her newest mural in hand and threw it to the floor, a deep sob building up in her chest and throat. Trembling, she snapped it, tore it, shattered it, leaving it in fragments across the floor.

She fell to the floor, curling up as she cradled herself gently. Her tears tore through her very being, brutal and unforgiving. Her art would never, could never, match up.

Her eyes fell upon the tattered shreds of the canvas, looking upon the delicate strokes that she had put so much hope and happiness into. Her mind traveled back to the unforgettable scene on the beach. She saw the boy, holding up his little piece of art, heard the boy even, as he told the whole world of his great achievement.

Wiping away her tears, she took once again a new canvas and let her brush begin to create a familiar, alluring trance with its soft movements. Hardly a thought passed through her mind as she let everything inside her heart fill the piece. Every emotion trapped by the black and white of her world was released onto the surface, and color began to fill it. Colors she had longed to see for years upon years; colors she had never been able to achieve.

Stepping back, she looked down upon the depiction of a boy, no more than five years old, holding up a hardly distinguishable finger painting, the widest smile on his face.

Looking up once more, she felt her eyes rest on the art she had for so long idolized, only to look back to her own. Taking it in her hands, like she had with so many paintings before, she turned to the piece hanging gently on the wall. Setting her newly finished mural aside, she took in her hands the one from the wall, removing it without so much as a second thought, and placed it into a corner, before returning to the portrayal of the boy on the beach. Taking it up once more, she hung it on the wall, stepping back as she felt her entire world begin to fill with the same beautiful color she yearned for so desperately.

As she watched her reality change, she knew, with all of her heart, that her art was enough. That she was enough.

And no one would ever change that again.