I’ve packed up the colors of twenty years,
tucked them in the corners of my mind.
Every canvas I’ve painted, every dream I chased
now whispers like an old friend left behind.

The lights are low, the doors are closed,
the chatter of the community fades down.
I’m trading the spotlight for quiet hours,
the noise of the city for the hush of paint on palette.

This is the season of legacy,
slow strokes in the language of time.
I’m painting the future in the silence now,
leaving my ambitions and ego behind.

A chameleon fading into the colorbox once more.

2025