I Painted Something To Accompany What I Wrote Above Here

I just have to say something. Omg. I read your most recent post and I've reread it so many times tonighy, and maybe it's because I'm sleep deprived but it made me ugly cry so hard and I couldn't stop going back to it, like it's so surreal and I'm sorry.

AH I'm sorry!! Thankyou for reading it and it's okay I'm okay, I haven't seen him in years. 💚

kafka coded and would still read

Honestly? My main piece of advice for writing well-rounded characters is to make them a little bit lame. No real living person is 100% cool and suave 100% of the time. Everyone's a little awkward sometimes, or gets too excited about something goofy, or has a silly fear, or laughs about stupid things. Being a bit of a loser is an incurable part of the human condition. Utilize that in your writing.

If your business is healthcare and you end up with more people dead than alive, because you purposely turned them away so you could take in more profits, then you have completely failed on a human level. Not to mention your entire business is in complete contradiction with its supposed purpose. You say you're in the buissnes of healing but all we see is death and greed.

I emptied the photo albums and all the pictures from the frames. I took them with me, because life moves fast and time fades most of the past, but those childhood memories I dare not try to erase, least of all your face. Even though alot of the memories are filled with fear and tears I still cling to a time when you where clearer than a faded photograph.

I'm teaching myself a new skill, its going as expected, I'm running into a lot of walls and I'll find myself tracing paint marks or picking lint of the carpet than actually making an effort.

So I keep reminding myself that in five years the time will still have past anyway. Or that sixe months ago I would have had a little foundation already, if only I stuck to it. So yes you'll feel frustrated at the beginning or halfway through, yes you'll have days or months of procrastination of feeling like there's no point even continuing, but the time will pass regardless. So in a year you could have bits and peices of a project, or you can have nothing at all, you could have a baseline of understanding for a new skill or none. It doesn't matter if you think that the payout won't be much, because it will be something as apposed to nothing. Rome wasn't build in a day as people say, so don't measure your own progress to harshly, just continue to build at your own rate, but if you believe in your project don't give up, progress is still progress.

I stole a bible a few years ago, I browsed the shelfs not looking to steal but to pass the time and then I saw it, black cover and pages edged in gold. I wasn't religious, more agnostic or an atheist that dabbled in Buddhist ideas, I felt the Christian narrative or at least the one I heard about was always about who would pay. How jesus payed for your "sins", and if you didn't believe then you'll pay in the after life, so hold on to guilt and carry your strife , but I also knew that I wanted , needed something. I wasn't looking for misplaced shame only hope and I wanted to have it tangible in my hands.

So with my stomach empty and my shoes hole ridden, I ignored the fashion magazines with diet tips and beauty tricks and filled my emptyness with something close to hope, if only to cope. I grabbed it from the shelf and I left the store. I was too afraid to steal food , I didn't dare even with my hunger, but possibility of having something bigger than life to cling to on cold and lonely nights seemed worth the risk.

During that time I wasn't doing so well, my mother was drinking and taking drugs with her friends god only knows where and the cupboards where completely bare. I would wander around town, I would wait for the days to pass, I would wait for something to meet me in my loneliness. I wanted so desperately for something like god to reveal itself to me, my mother wasn't someone I could lean on and my father wasn't around so I think naturally I wanted something to believe in, to sustain me when food and family couldn't.

Last year my brother and I where almost homeless, we slept on the hard floor in a cold empty room for three years, we spent every day waiting. I would wait for the stores reduced items at the end of the day, wait for the sun to dry my clothes, I would walk for hours round and round, my shoes didn't last long, I tried ducktaping the soles but the pavement wore through that aswell. When I wasn't waiting outside food banks, staring at white walls or writing, I sometimes would visit the church in town. It's a cathedral and I still have no idea what denomination it's under, but I'd walk around and admire the marbal pillers and stain glass windows, I would try to remember how people hundreds near a thousand years ago carved angles into stone and placed their hope in something other than themselfs, that back then a church may have been the only place you could go if you had no where else. I reminded myself of all the people who would have prayed there, that would have stood where I stood and cried, wished and waited as I did. I would light a candle and I would wish for a better tomorrow, I wasn't asking jesus or a god, I was asking the universe, I was asking subconsciously myself to keep going.

What do you think of religion? (Are you religious?)

When I think of you I think of red, the red of our kitchen walls, the red that you always chose to colour your lips with or wear with your clothes. I think of my red blood rushing past my ears, I think of the sound it made.

hello :) i love your blog theme, the header + pfp look so cute together!!

Thank you so much!! 💚 At the rate in which people keep saying they like my theme I'm going to need a tag for it lol

A lot of the time I don't feel like I've matured past 16. I still feel just as scared and even more lonely. They say your twenties are when you'll feel more steady, but I feel like I'm being swung into space and there I float suffocating in the void.

Do the people we drift away from ever return to us.

When my parents spilt up I didn't see my dad for months, during this time I would spend nearly every day playing with my friend Kelsey. We would get our hair caught climbing trees or make terrible perfume from her neighbours flowers. One time she pulled out a box from under her bed, it was filled with snails of different sizes collected from her garden "we're going to colour the shells". So that's what we did, we gently coloured around 20 in bright orange, red or purple, after that we put them near a tree by her house. We did all this to see if the same ones would come back, we thought at least 5 would. Weeks went by and we didn't see any colourful shells in her garden, they had moved on. Sometimes people leave and they don't come back, but you still hold the memories close, you still carry their mark on you and maybe they carry yours too.

Maybe somewhere out there, there are snails with brightly coloured shells and maybe carrying a piece of someone with you is enough.