the last test and proof.
for one human being to love another;
that is perhaps the most difficult of all our tasks,
the ultimate,
the last test and proof,
the work for which all other work is but preparation.
- Rainer Maria Rilke
I am so lazy. It is, honestly, my biggest fault. And I hate it. It disappoints everyone. And I'm scared that I will be like this forever - a stop starter, someone that leaves things unfinished, that forgets things, that just doesn't do them.
I am scared that I will stop myself. I know what I want, I do, I'm just terrified that I will be too lazy and slow to do it. Most of the time it's fear - I walk away from things, people, and then get scared of going back, facing the music, facing reality, so I don't. It's gotten so bad that I dream about the things that inspire that particular kind of guilt within me. I hate it, but the longer I don't face it, the worse it is.
I have never liked being told off. I have never liked disappointing people. Lord, I am the biggest wuss I know. Sometimes I feel like I would feel better, even if I got scolded, even if I had to face that look, the one that says I've shown a side of myself that they'd rather not see.
Thinking about it makes me feel sick. :(
The dolls I love - my mother hates them. My brother hates them too. In that they're both alike, one of those uncanny moments where you see just how far the apple fell from the tree. They both think they're creepy, ugly. The difference between them is that he wants me to have them, she does not. I drew the hair on and the suit to invision the look I want for them.
It's surprising how much time I can consume working on my journal. I move things around, cut things out, throw things away. It's one of those nice, numbing things, I think. Something where you don't have to think, just breathe, just do.
A story, a part of it. I want to write gentle worlds and people. Even if it's only ever for me, or my brother. He is the only one that really understands how deep the waters go and even then, I wonder.
More of the Kids. Missy got a new friend - he is a paper shadow of my own. I need to stop this. Adding him means the story is not finished and I don't know how it should be, what should happen.
My brother underneath his tough act is a nerd. I just wanted to draw something pretty. They don't have names yet, though my cousin thought they were Anakin and Padme at first, thanks to my theft of the clothes. I loved this picture. The city behind them was my favourite part to do.
The idea was lust - I meant to draw another girl, one in love with Long Hair but I couldn't get her face right, so in the end I gave up. They make me think of a boarding school in Spain, strangely, spoilt and left to run wild. I don't know why, I just like drawing the uniforms.
A rose from my teaparty, ages ago.
And, bird bones, because I wanted to. Because I thought I could be macbre. I couldn't eat dinner after - marinated chicken wings. The teacup seemed like a good idea, if not odd - I asked my brother, actually, and he said I should do it. I said it was a weird cominbation - he said it was perfect, since they both were delicate, fragile things. Sometimes he surprises me, and I see how we would be so perfectly alike, like the proper twins everyone insists we are, and yet so wonderfully different. I love him.
The last test and proof. I love this quote; it's something I am willing to believe in, wholeheartedly. I think it's a wonderful way of looking at life.
I have to admit, this is my favourite spread. There's something in the girl's face that I am more than pleased with.
Paris. One day. It's a promise.
Ballet shoes, because I could, because they are pretty, because I wish that I was the petite kind of girl that wore them.
Even with everything, with how I run away with things, with the general not knowing, I love being alive. I love being here, in this town in the moment. Everything is oddly perfect even when I'm scared, or sad, because I just feel like there's something beyond it all, something that my body and soul know they're meant for.