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Life as I know it.
When a window is a painting, the whole wide world is a piece of art. If you add the infinite love of a mother, life is a bike ride through nature. But things don’t last forever. And the weather turns weird, and your existential crises become an iron barrier between you and your family love. The gaps in the trees, showing the passing cars on the busy freeway, are a reminder to come back to a more levelled plane of reality, and that your ears still work. You also really don’t want to vape anymore but are now fairly sure it has become your latest addiction.
Writing a strange second person-POV diary while you’re living the experiences, you’re putting down is something odd to do, so I recommend you shift your focus to something new. New, so to speak, of course.
You scroll the pages of your imagination and your memory, in search for a painting, an artist, some clever thoughts about how art is abstract but real, and nothing. Not for now. But you did just do something different lately, you tried pottery. You tried making something that is not made of words and might now just use that experience to…put it down in words. However much possible, if the sounds of a late coming summer don’t interject with your capacity to write something coherent.
Writing is a needle in the back of your mind. You remember how it feels like, the pen/keyboard as a brush, the rest as…
