by Rie

I feel as if my heart has opened up and spilled over with a sad happiness.

I won’t write much more about the emotions because it is unwarranted. There’s no need for me to indulge in that publicly anymore.

I’ve drawn quite a bit. I can’t write, though. There’s this block in writing and I don’t know why. I can’t put words down on paper and I can’t move my plot along. All I can do is delete words and read.

It’s funny that I’m drawing more because that’s his thing. It’s funny that I can’t write because that’s my thing (and I really, really wanted to finish this project). Either way, I’m learning how to tone now. I’m still building on poses and those finicky fingers but I figured I’d build on both. I think I kinda understand what it means to put your heart on paper in drawings (as ugly as they are).

Either way, I’m tired now. The introspection and the turmoil hurts.

Still, I’m not unhappy.

Just tired.