A Master Post Of Thomas Romain’s Art Tutorials.

A gentle breeze rustles the trees. A Streetlight’s light casts yellow over green leaves. Your head on my Shoulder. Mine in your hair. In a backyard. On a trampoline.

My Mom does this thing where, when she turns on a movie it's like she is watching it for the first time, Everytime. Some of her favorites include, Titanic, Armageddon, Pearl Harbor. And for a long time growing up, I didn't really understand it, until a couple of years ago when I listened to Anaïs Mitchell's "Hadestown". It's about that old myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, where upon his wife's death Orpheus goes down to the depths of hell, to bargain for his wife's life and he does so successfully. Only to end up loosing her again. It's a tragedy. But one of my favorite tales, I could hear again and again. Which is funny, because in one of the songs the narrator comments on that. "Cause here’s the thing. To know how it ends. And still begin to sing it again. As if it might turn out (different) this time". I think it's just so Human. Hoping against all odds, hoping for change, even when we know the story ends. We keep hoping, even so. We sing the song again. We hope again.

I would take clouds of grey, and rainy days if it meant she was my sunshine’s ray. I would take all the thorns of those briar rose if it meant she was the one I could love and hold.

 She is my delight, my joy, she is my comfort, my piece of mind. She is all the things that are good and Devine.

I love her.

We are empty vessels and the hollow casks. Our spirit is the kindling and love is our fire. Burning blazing brilliant. Most other things are cheap substitutes for the kindling of our fires. They are meager, and fleeting. Dying. Love is eternal. So, so are our spirits.

I will remember flowers in glass vases.

And shoeless feet in grassy places.

I will remember caramelized skin. And a smile even sweater.

And movie nights, cuddled on the couches Sitting next to the heaters.

I will remember golden-brown hair. And the the way it felt.

I will remember dark brown eyes, and the way they'd make me melt.

I have actually yet to find rest. My Anxiety causes me much pain and distress like a storm that rages with usurping gales. Swirling, Turning, Tossing, displacing what cannot be lost. Costing me negative gain. It makes me fearful and afraid, like trying to clutch sand, only to have the grains slip out of your hands. I cannot find sleep, because all I feel is deracine. Safety is hard to find out there on the rollings seas. My peace is in some far off Rosy fingered dawn. And security and ease of mind are much more memories. It makes me breathe like no matter how much I intake it will not inflate in my lungs. Like my body would much rather pause on this breath, like it means less than to see the rest of the road. All these worries they share the same name. They are called the same as you.

Secondhand thrift stores

and animated movies

This is me; my Life

The faintest whisper of rain, and a distant clap of thunder. It is here that I find my peace. Underneath the weight of pressure changes am I released.

Decided to make another splice and thought I’d document it. ._.