I am at your house. We leave together. You then tell me about your artwork that you want to show me. I know there are some of me. I cry wishing you had told me. You hold me and tell me that I can leave and I’m not easy to be with but I can keep up. I agree.
From
Journal Entry 12/17/2013
You sent me a letter. My neighbor received it and delivered it to me. In it you said your basement flooded and you were filing a lawsuit. It was on the news. You sent pictures. I was shocked.
Knowing you had drawings of me in my dream felt like we were building something together.
I'm the
writer and you're the artist.
I write
about our 5d connection and you etch it on paper.
I can't
help but feel moved and inspired by you.
The
many ways you see me, I’m sure comes through your art.
The
emotional floods you've gone through, I went through them with you.
The madness
you felt, I felt it too.
It
wounded me deeply these dreams.
It felt
like you lost your masterpieces or had to let go of them.
It felt
like you were finished.
No more
drawings, which was also a metaphor for letting me go in a way that you're not
so emotionally entangled in me.
Maybe
that's what you had to do to move on in your life.
And if that's the case I don’t blame you.
So many times, I've thought about being done
myself.
No more
writing.
No more
books.
I’m
done!
Maybe
one day I will.
But that
day isn't here yet.
But I
also know how more alive you feel when you are creating something.
I know
how much joy it brings you.
I know
you have greatness in you, and your art was how you expressed it.
You are
not ordinary.
I am
not ordinary.
And this
love story is anything but ordinary.
There
is no one who can write it or draw it better than us! #TenQuestions
