It did not surprise me anymore, this struggle between holding on and letting go. It has started recently, but I had felt myself giving it more thought with every stroke. It was his doing; I wanted to scream but did not want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he could provoke me.
I stepped back to look at the painting.
Earlier, I was bolder in colors and the grandness of the scenes, while he taught me to add the details. The muse had become the teacher I was not ready to please. He still demanded it all.
Prompted @ Carrot Ranch [ Flash fiction Challenge in exactly 99 words – Paint ]