I’ll hurt as I paint you into my canvas. I’ll cry without meaning to. I’ll get sick from not sleeping. I’ll toss and toss never wanting to turn and face the direction our relationship went. But that’s the point of paint: that you’ll never get those intense vibrant colors without dabbling your mind in suffering.
w color ?
We are all children looking out the window of an airplane as we rummage through our baggage in the overhead dispenser 10,000 ft off the ground.