SBo I shelve my brush and take care of my canvasTut I can't do this forever
The only thing that makes me feel like a person
They don't understand that It's the only thing I can do
Ihey don't understand that art flows through my painted veins
can't stop
SSummer felt like a foolish dream, childlike andIhe saw through my references and she understood how selfish I was
I called her Amy, Genevieve, she knows who I really mean
It ached in me, the worm from her mouth seemed manageable and sweet
sat in my car and I missed her
The story is not beholden to the outline—if anything, it’s the other way around. Because you can always go back and rewrite a portion of your first draft that split from the outline if you’re not happy with the direction it took, but you can’t rewrite anything you haven’t