I never had a grandpa, but after marrying my husband, I got a grandpa-in-law. He was a well-known writer in my region. I even had his books with me when I was a kid, and he was an English teacher.
We got to know each other, but only for a glimpse of time. I took care of him in his last days, but one of his children forced us out of the house we lived in and knowingly left Grandpa alone. They never told us that Grandpa had passed away. We just found out from elsewhere.
He passed away because of dementia. He was aggressive in his last days, but one time, he asked me how I learned literature and where I got the habit of writing. I felt that question, even though I didn’t know any answers to it.
After that, even when he had dementia, he would sneak out bundles of paper and books for me to read, along with pens and all kinds of stationery items he owned.
I still cry when I miss him, and I pray for his soul to rest in peace. He wasn’t the greatest person, but I love him, and I forgave him.
I wish I had had him when I was a kid. If I had, my life would have been so different in a literary way.
I ran away from everything I knew with the only person who actually understood me.
He’s a filmmaker, photographer, and brand strategist who spent years going in detours and finding himself.
I’mma muse trying to figure out how to get paid for what I absolutely want to do.
Dance in an opera house, act, write more poems that awaken hope.
We make art together because it feels like the universe put us in the same room on purpose.
But right now, the algorithm decides if we have a place to live next month.
If the people looking for us don’t find us, I’ll have to take a job that will leave me too exhausted even to think.
No more art.
No more performing.
Maybe no home.
My dreams can’t wait. I’m afraid they might fade while I’m busy surviving.
BE YOURSELF so the ones looking for you can find you.
I’m believing in that.
But I’m just terrified the algorithm gets the final vote.
Anyone else living on this timer?
#starvingartists
Somewhere behind me, I feel you watching.
Her eyes,
her hair,
her hands,
her lips.
Not just body parts.
Pieces of art I could watch for hours.
I’m only the observer,
recording the history of art
in the 21st century,
like an old painter
painting what he sees.
Fantasies, II is live in The Private Gallery.
https://t.co/sZ5wcy9CGR
#fineartnude #artisticnudephotography
You opened the room door. She was inside, covering herself with her hands as she looked at you. Every version of her becomes harder to understand, and somehow, that makes me feel vulnerable.
https://t.co/KAuGTjWXUK
#FineArtPhotography#nude#ArtisticNudity
Unethical Life of a Hope Carrier & an Artist
“It’s unethical,” they said,
“To believe in better days
While walking through green glass.”
I learned that sunshine is up to me.
Peace of mind is up to me.
My life is up to me.
Yet I choose to walk through green glass
while believing in better days.
____________________________________
A poem by me.
I wrote this one two days after my birthday. After writing this I felt my mind gets clearer.
After the first rays of sunshine came in to our room, everyday I sits facing to my note books and I write. I write and write... Now I'm writing a novel!
#poet #writer #hope
What happens when a girl falls for a man twenty years older… who lives on a completely different continent… and her overprotective little brother refuses to let go?
Heeey… I’m Jane! 🤍 I’ve decided to share my ongoing novel here on #𝕏!
So, Lily’s story " Gardenia carinata " starts tonight. ✨
Chapter 1: While Rain Calms Down
🕧 12:30 PM UTC | 6:00 PM Sri Lanka time
See y’all tonight… 🤍
#RomanceNovel #AgeGap #Culture #WritingCommunity