stipple you out...It's cold.stipple you out...
I'm sitting here with my knees up to my neck, wearing this very ugly but warm woolen sweater you knitted me 3 winters ago (it's a little too small now). I'm cracking my fingers, scratching at scars, rubbing my eyelids and flipping through a miniature booklet full of crosshatching and stipplings, both which really fascinate me.
I'm lonely is this big house when no one else is home, which is most of the time. The sounds of emptiness hollow my heart and make my eyes water (which is probably why I rub them so much).
As I finish studying the last piece of art in the miniature booklet, I realize I
...
Irritated
--
" Art is a proof that there's something more than emptiness " - M. Proust
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