The same feeling of not belonging, of futility, wherever I go: I pretend interest in what matters nothing to me, I bestir myself mechanically or out of charity, without ever being caught up, without ever being somewhere. What attracts me is elsewhere, and I don’t know where that elsewhere is.

"I wish you a great big garden and blue skies."

"The one thing that you have that nobody else has is you. Your voice, your mind, your story, your vision. So write and draw and build and play and dance and love as only you can."

within the garden of being, I am but a fleeting firefly, my verses mere whispers in the night. I am the dewdrop on the petal of time, glistening for a moment, then vanishing into the embrace of dawn

I will bring you flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.

When Franz Kafka said: “i cannot make you understand. i cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. i cannot explain it to myself”

The gender neutral urge to create something that will outlast you even after death, even after your name is forgotten so that you’ll live on forever in the art you left behind and emotionally connect to people long after death.