Without wings

I just felt nostalgic. Going thru the pictures we have shared around this years I recognized that you werent meant to be understood. I made some ginger tea and layed back on the chair started to type on the laptop and laughed alone. I only wished I could write like I did before when you were around. Those days were confusing but so good on the creativity department you know. Still when I write about you, it seems I am really talking to you. I try to ripoff your works in pieces and break them up like this huge jigzaw puzzle that it is. They are just like you a walking jigzaw puzzle that breaths, thinks and creates. It is strange that still today I am trying to figure you out. I will always be artisticaly in love with you. Not with you but with your art which is totally different.

I see you there sitting alone in a corner doing your thing with your hands and paper stretching time with every trace you make on the paper. Analyzing every line that you make haves to go paralel with the other so then it can collapse with the rest of the world. The light focus on the masterpiece while you stand on the shadow and on the feets of it. To make it more confusing on the left as in a negative force that is balanced by the mess that creates the piles of of colors on the other end. A light runner up stands on the middle of the frame like inviting to run thru the rest of the space around it. But i just stay there outside the picture watching from the distance as I always did.

I can deny that your works always impact me in many ways. They always make me wonder what went thru your mind, life and what made you do that line there, that color there and so on. Don't worry your face wont make my page you will stay anonymous like always. I admire your potencial and your creativity but I hate the solitude that you love. Yeah, your mistress. This shouldn't be here at all this shold be on the way to your inbox, but what for... right? I will keep it like it is now. Silence is a gratitude. So i stay here admiring life thru the glass. I will be always here and keep your promise it is the only thing that keeps us attached to each other, well and art. All for the love of art. Always.

You are still without wings, arent you?