Rosie !!

that’s me btw

Drinking white wine and listening to rich girl by Gwen stefani

Only he knows the disgustingly messy parts of me. Filled with anguish, calamity, and exhaustion. The parts of me that are scrambled like a puzzle, some pieces are taken, others are burnt, some lost, and some cut apart, a puzzle that’ll never be finished. My heart torn out and bleeding out as it’s still trying to pump blood through my limp body. Except, only he knows where to put it. How to be delicate enough when handling it. What to do with the blood afterward. I can never open up to anyone, I’m incredibly reserved, but I make it to where no one can suspect that logically. After the first couple months he defied his logic, and accused me of hiding how I actually felt and putting up a front even though he could’ve just seemed stupid or crazy. But he was right. He’s always right when it comes to me.

Learning how to draw you, so that if you die before me, I will forever have the lines of your face etched into my brain, into sketchbooks scattered across my room, into notebooks when I’m bored. In hopes that when I’ve lost everything else, the sound of your voice, the way you smell, the warmth of your skin, and the patterns of your breath, I can still pick up a pencil and have the memories of what shapes make up your face. Even when my heart aches the heaviest, so long as I have a paper and pencil in front of me I can keep you alive. My muse forever and always, but it’s more than that.