broken flip flops

No palm trees,
no sand,
no waves,
no FLA.

After speaking with my physician about some new and irritating physical manifestations I have been experiencing that continue to build in their awkwardness, severity and frequency, my decision to postpone FLA was made.

There is a real, quite real possibility my travel wings have been clipped but for now they will rest and I will dream of broken flip flops and sand in my eyes.

No tears, just sand.

'hello'

You called and your out of the gate personal babble blinded me.

And you demanded I become Helen Keller and understand my loss of sight so by the end of your first sentence I would surely fix something I knew nothing about.

The babbled continued with a lot of nothing about something involving people...

love, hate, passion, jealousy, more hate, free will, confusion.

The expected learning curve placed so high I started to choke on my saliva unable to distract your vision for a minute or maybe two and after you said goodbye,
you never called again to say hello and tell me what happened.

I sit patiently and wonder for your sake
not mine.

paint

My lips have been chapped as of late, the Texas chill not helping my craving to convey my thoughts. They still remain, ever changing, but I have just avoided the idea of writing them down, for awhile and not too much longer.

Thursday I will travel back to FLA for pure pleasure. I am packing art supplies as a necessity with the intent that the images I paint will speak loudly and with conviction. It is time to place that which I think, dream and otherwise, down on canvas and paper, I knowing not what to expect only hoping that the talent I once thought as my own, will show its face in multiples.

I have painted for show and I have painted for purpose. I paint now to continue breathing, using the talent I was gifted as signs and symbols that possibly will be the only tangible anything that creates my memory.

I do not foresee the tantrums and brush throwing I once used as part of my ritual to spark 'creativity'. I believe knowing that this is the last chapter conjures more emotion than all other preceding works of art.

Knowing that the finish line is within my eyesight makes a blank canvas look overwhelming but the temptation of using my gift at a time and space I never could have imagined, shows me purpose, black and white...