People never understood how I could love such a house and keep returning to it. It was old, white, and didn't have any connection to the outside. I would respond calling the place peaceful, nice and quiet. Whenever I was there, I would create a masterpiece. Inside, it's walls were covered in heartfelt oil paintings of the surrounding landscapes. Maybe I'd sell them one day for profit, but I don't want to part with them.
As I sat on the porch painting the scene in front of me, I saw a car pull up.
"That's strange," I murmured to myself. "No one ever comes up this way." A man stepped out of the car and got a canvas and easel and some painting supplies out of the car and walked up to me with them.
"Hi Miss, I don't mean to be a bother, but would you mind if I painted with you? My sister told me her friend likes to paint out here," he explained.
"Oh, uh sure. I just wasn't expecting visitors," I replied.
He chuckled, "I'll be gone by nightfall."
I nodded and we just sat there all day, pain