Writing Like Nobody's Reading

A friend and I used to do a lot of creative writing together. We’d go all in, draw our OCs, and more. I miss those days. We wrote for ourselves. Not even an afterthought of whether or not it’d be well-received by anyone else. Just exploring and examining our psyches through the characters, the dynamics, the plots, and overall, the storytelling. I miss those days. However, I could only allow myself that kind of ‘leisure’ because it was a much-needed healing activity and not merely a want. An Art teacher I respected recommended it to me - and I took his advice. So we both tended to our wounds, voids, and messes through art.

And now here I am, with ever-expanding universes within me. The passage of time is currently annoying me more than ever. I wish I could walk through every meaningful portal there is to walk through. But the reality is that time is running out. Therefore, I ought to be wise and pick the most important ones before I no longer can.

Also, I got the purple-aura person in my life to thank for literally saving my life and letting me have the space, without rushing, to restore myself after, on more levels than ever, having died. I didn’t get my dream of going to the Chavón Art School and then Parsons School of Design fulfilled like I was aspiring to, in order to eventually achieve renowned success. Instead, I ended up on a weirder path and, frankly, I wouldn’t trade it. (Still pissed off at the people and situations that detoured and/or delayed me for no good reason, though, but making the best of what I can/should regardless.)

So, yep, life has a lot of twists and turns. Just happy for what’s coming together at last…