Thursday

Pictographic Divider

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.
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Wednesday

Pictographic Divider

'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.
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Monday

Pictographic Divider

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...
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