So I’m “kind of” back to you again. After months of intensive focus on painting and business, here I am, a wasted party girl with smudged make up creeping under your sheets at 5 am.
Yeah, I’m a bit heartbroken, maybe. But for the most part I’m just really tired and I don’t wanna go back to my cave and be confronted with the same worries for a while. I was so close to burning myself out, banging my head on the windshield. The Universe saved me with its deus ex machina thing and so I was able to stop myself before I totally lost control.
I love creating because it’s liberating. I love the release, the playfulness and the focus. I love catching the essence of what I want to bring into life, like a firefly fairy fluttering in the dark forest night (shit, I knew that’s fucking cheesy but I still wanted to say it).
I love you, writing, because I simply love words and I love the process of stringing them together. It’s like sewing up little magical things to create a new universe of infinite sensations, meanings and possibilities.
You could say I’m a little lost now and I have to dig deep to feel my roots again. You’re the best companion to do that. Only you have the ability to pierce through the thick mud I currently got stuck in. God, I’m such a hard headed, messy girl!
I don’t know how long this process would be. I hope it’s okay with you to accommodate me for a while. I just have to sort things out and poke over here and there in the meantime. I think I can promise you that I’d be silent most of the time.
I don’t have much tools with me to do this sorting stuff besides my cheap tweezers and worn out beige thread and needle. Don’t worry much though, I’d only be needing so little, just the bare minimum. I was born a weed, a wildflower. I’m a natural survivor.
All I ask is your company during my morning coffee and the few hours before sunrise when I am about to go to sleep. I may be your rebound lover, but you are such a precious thing to me.