✧・ﾟ:*

back then andrea's words would often come to life as small darts thrown quickly at the softest parts of my body, the same ones i would work so hard to hide from the world every second of every day. no real violence was ever involved in this experience of course, that wasn't andrea's style at all. sharp and precise as they were these darts would only assist in gently holding my body up, like the tiny beaks of a dozen swallows, exposing my see through skin and the anxieties living under it so i could name them as openly as my shame would let me. anxieties, say, like a chest too small for its bleeding heart, a love that couldn't survive another season, a cruel world that would never get better.

i have andrea to thank for my core belief that my sensitive nature is my biggest strength. this human condition has gifted me the best possible canvas to paint a life on. i'm passionate about my own passion, even when it backfires, maybe especially then. how good is it to know that i have the gift of patience, that nothing my hands can offer is ever shallow, that this well in my chest cannot be emptied out? and when i'm washed ashore from stepping too far into the ocean like i've done one too many times, how lucky am i to get to laugh about it and do it all over again?

through their art andrea showed me that words spoken straight from the heart can transform the lives of those willing to play around in the dirt with their shadow. there has never been time for perfection - the present moment stretching out in front of our tongues is all we have. so today i ask you, as i ask myself, to soften your grip and speak directly from your chest. let it be ugly, let it be raw, let it be full of love. because that's all a good life can ever be built on, lump in the throat and all.