sat through this art workshop today—everyone was sharing these profound insights while i just nodded along, like yeah, totally get it, but my mind was racing trying to grasp basic color theory, now my canvas looks like a toddler's finger painting. the instructor kept praising those who really connected with their pieces, and here i am with my paint splattered jeans thinking why did i even sign up ...
why did i think scrolling through my entire contact list at 2am would yield a magical solution to my loneliness when it only served as a brutal reminder that apparently, my social circle is a desert - like, do i really need to text that one person i barely know from a book club who definitely does not want to hear my 2am existential crisis or should i just sit here contemplating life while staring...
sitting in my tiny apartment, staring at my unfinished painting while my friend posts their perfect mural online. feels like every brushstroke i make is just another reminder of how stuck i am, the canvas never coming out right while their art looks effortless, effortless like they don’t even know the word panic.
sitting in my tiny apartment, staring at my unfinished painting while my friend posts their perfect mural online. feels like every brushstroke i make is just another reminder of how stuck i am, the canvas never coming out right while their art looks effortless, effortless like they don’t even know the word panic.
sometimes i think about how the last time i laughed with my buddy, he was cracking jokes about our stupid training exercises. now im just left with all these ridiculous memories while trying to figure out how to explain to people that 22 a day is not just some number, its a joke with a punchline i never wanted to hear.