I wouldn’t change anything, because w/o the less-delightful parts of myself, there’d be nothing to work toward, no goals to set. My favorite part of myself? Well I’m not sure. I suppose it’d be that i love helping people, and just being around people. Its been to my benefit so much of my life, i hope i stay extraverted the rest of it.
I’ve been using burnt umber, alizeran crimson and ultramarine blue,
How do you mix black?
Not being more clear in how i feel about people either in or not in a relationship.
Yoga has saved my mood on this day in history. I’m going to go draw things and have naughty thoughts about owning my own moleskine.
YOU’RE mine mine mine.
You make me want to create. You make me want to run in circles till I fall down and just stare up at the sky. You make me want to cry because you’ve no choice but to go through life on medication in order to survive in a world that has no leniency for those who’re different. Those who can’t accept someone who is distracted easily, or even a little bit different. You make me want to escape this to be pure, pure away from all of the tarnish. Yet I want to be immersed in the tarnish. I want to emerge from the tarnish creating beauty, beauty worthy of you. Beauty that needs to come from the grossly desensitized world we live in. But it can’t be done without the seed, the seed that you’ve given me. The seed of beauty. I can do this. With you by my side, we can survive the filth and tarnish together. But there is no place, there is no seed, no peach pit, that we can keep tarnish-free. It seeps, it slimes, it creeps, it sneaks, it crawls like the little grudge girl, into whatever seed we try to create. There is no way to escape it. I want a hot air balloon, 21 balloons style, so I don’t even need a seed, I’ll have the whole sky. But even the tarnish gets in there. The only seed I can find is within the pages of books. We are storybook characters, there is no other way to survive. No other way to escape this all. I don’t know how else, I can’t find any other way. Little mouse-eaten pages hidden in a trunk in granny’s attic, found by a young girl to read and sneak her way into our world for an afternoon. Dust motes swirling around her head as her face gets closer and closer to the words as the dim light gets dimmer with each passing hour. Maybe our pages will be passed down to someone who has need of their own seed, their own escape from the tarnish.
Tonight is painting night. It’ll be a blast, with a very old friend, who i don’t get to see much out of studio class. Creating always works better together :]
already following
I know where i’ll be a month from now.
I know where i’ll be a year from now.
I know where i’ll be 5 years from now.
I’m happy having made the decisions, but i can’t help dreaming. I want to spend more time with the people i love. I want the time to create the things that might not turn out wonderful but are a source of learning.
I’m in a stupor. Wake up, SarahMiller.
