#colours
super fun lil painting! my tiny self would be happy that i’m still drawing cute unicorn boys
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so i smiled and tried to mean it
any other world came on shuffle during a long car ride and i had to draw oz immediately, right away, because i don’t think it’ll ever stop upsetting me
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i barely started colouring this back in the spring but i don’t think i’ll ever go back and finish it,, it seemed a shame to not post what i did get done
these kids are real cute! i look forward to finishing the series at some point
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a couple of little drawings i did while at the cottage!
charming kids from my partner’s team
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reread a bunch of pandora hearts while at the cottage! these kids love each other so much
i love them so much
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She had always had the suspicion that her world was not their’s. They being everyone, each and every person with their own set of eyes, and their own set of thoughts. In the back of her mind, too far back to trouble her daily life, but close enough that when things got too quiet, when she was left too alone, it would come crawling forward. Her perception, the things she saw, she had no idea if they were the things they saw.
What made the blue she saw the blue that everyone else called calm, and tranquil, and royal? What were those adjectives, but references to the blue things in the world? The calmness and tranquility of the lake or the sky, the royalty of the blue cloth that kings and queens wore, the dye expensive, necessitating a big bank account. Why was red associated with violence and passion if not for the blood that spills out of us?
And what if that blood was green for someone, and the sky mauve? Would they not use the same words, the same associations, to describe them? And if the colours weren’t fixed, their meaning intangible, something to be entirely distrusted, then what exactly could she rely on? It was the loose thread that unwound the cardigan of the world. So she left it alone. She hid that thread in the back of her mind and tried to forget about it. An itch that would not go away.
It was lonely, to have such a thought. To bear the knowledge of perception, even if she tried to unknow such a thing. Everyone else was in the same situation, of course, but they were blissfully unaware, sauntering down pavements, waving at taxis. They didn’t know that that taxi could be a lurid pink, that the road was a desperate turquoise. It made her feel woozy.
“Stop. It doesn’t matter.” He’d clasped his hands around hers, and pressed his lips to her forehead. And she’d tried to pull away, her skin feeling alien, trying to get away from herself. He’d held her, forced her to be still, and hushed her.
“It doesn’t matter.” Another kiss against her forehead.
“It doesn’t matter.” Another. She looked up at him. Her eyes swam. A tear got free and made a break for it, fleeing down her cheek. He caught it with his lips.
“It doesn’t matter.” He whispered against her face, and, for a moment, she believed him.
He squeezed her hand, and their eyes met. He smiled.
“Only this matters.” This time, the belief stuck.
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