so

bleachedbanana blonde fml moment of the day

im painting right, trying to be creative… thinking of ways to make my paint “pop” or you know, do something a little different

so i’m painting a box, inside of the box im painting red to fake that “felt” look y'know

so it’s looking nice

but then I think. It would be sooo deep if I did that straw technique and make branches coming off the paint kind of thing you know what im tallkiinn about

so, i do that

first

straw doesn’t really do what i want it to do its kinda just pushing the paint around and now it looks like I got the BLACK CIRCLE that symbolises death and im like shit this is looking bad

but wait

i panic right

im like

maybe I can get it to roll better if I use salt

so I do that, but oops - I poor too much salt in

what do I do?

Lean down, and blow as hard as I can to get rid of the salt

salt is now

in my eyes

in my mouth

and I wheeze

and i almost throw up

cause it’s pretty grose a mouthful of salt and my eyes are now burning

and my face is getting tingly and is burning cause I’ve just poured salt into my fucking pores

and yeah, so I clean myself up then wipe away all the paint shit stuff as much as I can with paper towel.

I’m running to escape but I don’t really know what I’m wanting to escape from or why I bother running from it. 

You are the most confusing, interesting, influential man I have ever come across.
I don’t know who you are, but you have me in a rope swinging me around helplessly. For I am no longer in control of myself, but in a trance.

And I get lost in your black thick hair, chiselled bone smoker looking face. 
And how you drag at your cigarette, breath it all in then puff it out, turn and smile at me and say 
“Thanks for joining me. It’s nice having you here.”
“I wanna quit, but it’s hard right now. But seeing you cold makes me want to. Here have my hoody.”
“It looks better on you anyway.”

You make me feel like I’m in a movie, and sometimes I question if this is how I really am; because - “when I am with him, I feel as if I am with myself.” After I told him this, he laid down on the floor over top of me and got into my oversized large Metallica hoody. Our arms entwined and he popped his head out of the hoody and said “Peeka-boo, my dear.” We laughed, for a very long time. 
“That’s the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

I hope it’s all true, not for my sake of wasted time, or the feeling of losing someone, but for the fear of losing my sanity. 

Steven, you are my mine, and I am yours.
And together, we can control our own world.