UPDATE: After reading a comment left on this post asking about the finished painting, I took a picture of it and added it!

Original post: It sits there. Blank, white, and full of endless possibilities of what I could make it become. I can paint whatever I want. I just need to think. What to paint, what to paint. I like how it looks like this, just blank. It means I haven't made a mistake yet. It's still pure and organic. But that's not why I brought all of my paint things out. I brought them out because I wanted to paint something on this white sheet. It can't paint itself. So I guess it's up to me.
Here we go. . .

Brush upon brush lay in a line, from small delicate ones to large thick ones.
I pick one out of the plenty.
The paint tubes are piled on each other. Some used frequently. Others used sparingly.
The drawer opens to reveal a treasure of colors, all screaming their different abilities.
With a deep breath, the first stroke is made.
Seeing a similarity, I snap a photo.
I step back to examine my work thus far. Hmmmm. . .it's lacking something. A border.
Slowly but surely, dark strokes are added one by one.
I think I'm done.
New paint stains have left their mark on the smooth wood.
The cloudy water sits still now, waiting to be rinsed.
Bearing new strokes of paint, the rag lays limp on the table.
The clasp clicks shut.
The brush slips back into its pocket, joining the others.