So like, im going through a depressive episode right now, and i decide to step outside and sit on my porch (its 12 AM when i do that) and i see a snail. I pick the snail up and im just thinking really philisophically, I thought this: Who am I to you, Little Snail? Am I a god of mercy, or just another predator. Perhaps, you cannot comprehend me. It's okay, neither can I. I don't know who I am either. Perhaps there is somebody looking at me, somebody I cannot comprehend, thinking the same thing. Do they know the struggle? The pain I am in? Just like I don't know what you're going through. Perhaps me not eating you is a sign to keep going. I'm still waiting for my sign. I know you cannot comprehend the emptiness I feel, yet your presence comforts me. You navigate my fingers so curiously, testing the fabric on my arm that makes up my sweater. Watching your body ungulate to move slowly mesmerises me. Why? Why do you not fear me? You are in the presence of a higher being yet you do not cower inside of your shell. Perhaps, there is some thought in there after all. Perhaps, just maybe, you understand that I can hurt you if desired, but I won't. Are we just all snails, navigating a world, a hand, some of us hiding in our shells, while others show their curiousity and bravery? If so, then who is watching us? Who is sitting on their porch, depressed and empty, holding us so delicately, and pondering these same things? If there is, I hope that they find comfort in our company. so i did the normal thing
I painted it.
