Are you ever going to update Winds of Change?
I will, dear, and thank you for your patience. 🙏
I've talked with my patron about it. She knows I've been through some emotional shit lately. I did the terrible mistake of mixing my art with my emotional life, and now it's hard to get out of the burn out and the withdrawal that came after finishing that project.
What really hurts is that I never got to say a proper goodbye to the person who inspired and helped me with it for five whole months. I can't open up to him or stay in touch with him because of reasons. And it's doubtful that I'll ever see him again.
Now all I can do is gaze at the night view over my beautiful city and hope that this too shall pass.
Sorry for oversharing. I don't do this. I wish I could give you all a hug right now, like the hug I couldn't give him.
Yesterday I printed Nikita's most beautiful photos. I'm hoping they'll do their magic and get me back on track. 🤞
And just for those of you who are still patient with me, here's a snippet from the third chapter of Wind of Change.
Alexey looked up at him from the computer, an apologetic smile playing on his lips. “I need to finish this, Henk--” he waved at the screen.
“Yes, of course,” the American blurted out and sprang out of his chair, a flush of embarrassment colouring his cheeks. “Maybe another time.”
He patted Alexey’s shoulder, ready to get the fuck out of there before he made a fool of himself - again. “Don’t overwork yourself tonight, okay, buddy?”
Alexey clasped Henk’s hand before he could walk away. He looked up at him, a barely visible flame burning in the depth of his olive eyes.
“I guess I wasn’t clear,” he said calmly. “I need to finish this and then I’ll show you how we kiss in Russia.”
Henk held his breath for a beat.
Alexey let out a laugh. “I won’t be long, don’t worry.”
He fiddled with the keyboard for a few minutes that dragged on like hours, puffing on his smoke, spitting a couple of frustrated blyat’s until his face softened as he was apparently getting closer to the solution that suited him. The solution he had been yearning for.
He turned off the computer, stubbed out his cigarette and rotated the chair to face his boss: Henk was just sitting there, holding his breath, his hands sweating on his knees.
“Come here...” said Alexey, his voice reduced to a honeyed whisper.
Henk’s exhaustion and disbelief were so overwhelming that he didn’t get up. He just dragged his feet to get the rolling chair close to the Russian. He too was yearning to see this through. He wanted to finally learn “the Russian way”. He wanted.
