lilyerida

(sorry I’m not good at writing and english isn’t my first language) Im on my 5th rereading “and this, your living kiss”, just wanted to say thank you sooo much for this incredible work. I reread it during difficult times and it makes me feel better, special thanks for the representation of child s****l abuse - - as someone who has survived it, I cried for a long time over the poem “perfection”, It’s so astounding to see my own thoughts and feelings in a fictional character. This is one of the greatest stories I’ve ever read

this fanart I drew after rereading poem “perfection”. Hope you have a good day, thank you again ❤️

https://www.tumblr.com/lilyerida/817593247806390272/think-a-lot-about-and-this-your-living-kiss-by

Dear Lily,

I am blown away by your art and your words. That you've reread my work and turn to it during hard times to draw some comfort is wildly wonderful to me, and I am so humbled by it. Thank you. That you relate so deeply to this version of Dean is a gift beyond measure, too. But most of all, that you have survived, and are creating, and reaching out--this is true wonder, true beauty, the best of humanity, the everyday eucatastrophe of life! Friend, I am reaching out across the distance between us, howsoever far that may be, for a fistbump, to hold hands, a hug, pick which you prefer. I offer it freely, heart full to bursting with the bittersweetness of understanding.

And if I may shower you with compliments of my own? Because that piece of art, my friend, is utterly gorgeous. I'd not believe my writing could inspire it if I didn't see my own words incorporated there. It's so full of delicious detail that I keep noticing more...Obviously I am first drawn to Dean's eye, being the center of the target, and it's hard to look away because I can't get over it. The shape, the shade of green, the gathered tears, the angle of the brow, the freckles, the profile that is so distinctly Dean's. How the freckles mirror the splotches in the sky: the smaller, lighter ones like stars, the larger ones frustrated ink--or tears seeping into paper. The waves to me like rippling, disturbed water, but also reverberations like aftershocks of pain, a throbbing ache, or the dips and valleys of dark thought. The gun hanging over his head. The gun point up at the man. Still the target, red red red, on Dean. The repeated phrase, written over and over again (and how many of my notebooks from that age are filled with the same?). Dean, curled up. Dean with a star. Protecting himself. Soothing himself. The star a constant ache at his core? The star, a shaky sketch of his light and joy and love, a fire he keeps tending at a smolder with the hope there may come a day it can burst into bright flame?

Like all the best art, I could look at it in different moods, different times, and notice more, interpret it differently, draw out the parts that speak to me the most. What an amazing piece. Thank you so, so much for sharing it!