Betwixt the drug of you and the and the pain of art, I lived torn. I crave that passion of connection and the solitude of my soul cuts me in as a pawn and tugs and yanks me far deep into creation. It is me, it was me… I stop walking and then I run…
. . .
UGH! What time is it?… fuuuuuu… 3:48 in the morning… damn mornings!
I need to do laundry, pack and pack. Plane ticket… phone, charger, wallet…
This trip will either be a success or it’ll just be. We were classmates for two and a half years and then we weren’t. What made me call the operator asking for a number, was a floating need with uncontrollable actions, I called until I got your number.
. . .
The silly and exciting butterflies gave me hope in our friendship. A hope that promised nothing and gave everything. Insecurities of acceptance are sad truths but the work to build pathways intermingling through it all, are a struggle and a compromise, an agreement of cultivating and connecting the differences… I only have answers to seek.
Joy Jane June
30th short 05.03.2019 seek