if only...

This process of emptying, sorting, cleaning dusty areas of the heart, going through old photographs of the mind, feeling, acknowledging, ...

iI you are a fragile client, who is in need of support and compassion, and understanding: how fair is it that your therapist bares herself?

I liked the simplicity and congruence, from start to finish, of the whole exhibition: simple lines, mono-colour in its own various tones.

Again, I felt the same vibe: independence, opportunities, possibilities, openness. Trust. She allowed me to trust her, again, and so I did.

I will continue my pilgrimage in exploring who I am taking my time to stop in relevant places and honour time and the lessons I am learning.

I am actually writing. Not this blog, not the research for college, or stuff for my other job. I don’t mean that. I mean real writing.

I went outside in the backyard and peeked through the windows at two police vans parked in my street and looking very busy.

There is a void in me. I can feel and almost touch this void. This void is calling me, and I need to address it first.

My desire now is for life to surprise me.

What everyone understood is that love hasn’t ended.

I am waiting. I am in a state of expectation. Almost suspended breathing...

And my JouJou, covered in wool, will ride her dragon, surrounded by sparrows, and she will protect the Great Whale.

I am here now encouraging myself, telling me I can do it, I want to do it, and that I am ok in doing it.

I am happy. Don’t get me wrong, I am well-mannered, and educated with it comes to engage with other people. It’s just that I prefer not to.

The HB on the paper, with those wide lines in faint black and red. I can see my hand: my very first act of creation. My statement.

She sounded mature, grave, depressed, heavy, damned, charismatic, beautiful, fascinating, alluring, very enigmatic. All the things I wasn't.

I know: this is the beginning of the end.

This feeling of gipsytude in me, of days with no name, not keeping time, not counting hours. The epitome of letting it be, que será, será...

an artist slash writer ⧿ she is trying to make it ⧿ I really don’t know what she does ⧿ but I love her very much ⧿ please don’t tell her...