#studio writing

Balloons in April. Texas bluebonnets hypnotizing in the wind. Our famous skies. The never ending sky above, a horizon that proved the earth was flat. A brassy sax and the player tickling the instrument to paint a song through air about loneliness. About walking in New York with just your breath to see. Blue like a mantra, repeat it until it means nothing and you are nothing and yet- everything. Blue. Violets in a poem and roses in vases that a boyfriend brought to me when he thought coaxing would make me kind. I am kind but my soul is tinged with overwhelming shades of blue at times so I apologize to my old sweetheart, for being all that I was yet nothing you could possibly want.

I used to be a child then a child and a girl and now a child, a girl and a woman in broken layers where the other still seeps through because no stage is completed successfully. No epic tale of coming of age, just birthday candles on a cake.

Ryan Curtis