My heart and mind helps me remember many things.
I remember holding a colour pencil for the first time, my toddler hands clutching it tightly as lines and colours flooded the rumpled blank paper on the floor infront of me.
I remember feeling my eyes widen, actively darting around the cramp art room in elementary school, curiosity of a typical young child igniting a flame within my ecstatic soul, letting everything my art teacher uttered sink into my brain as I felt my little horizon gradually expand.
I remember bouncing off the walls when it was announced that I had won my neighbourhood's local art competition, energy coursing through my veins, my proud cheers reverberating around the enclosed space of my room.
...
I remember my mother's piercing gaze everytime she looks my direction. Her sharp eyes would travel from my blank, slightly confused expression to the sketchbook cradled in my arms. She'd sigh and stay silent, making me feel more ashamed about myself than I should be.
YOU ARE READING
; the heart's way
Poetry|| My one-track heart. Do you want it? Do you want to cradle it in your hands, before crushing it within your palm? I don't care. I don't care what you do to it. As long as I get what I want, all shall be well. || cover art by Lyckaaaa on weibo!
