How it happened

she was art//

Sana's POV :

" Give it a rest my love, lets take this slow, we both need some room to breathe, "

Blackbear was, is and always will be my favorite artist. Songs like these made me want to take my little honda out for a night ride. But waking my parents up would be the perfect mess.

Its exactly 2:59 and sleep is evading my tired eyes, I've been an insomniac since I was 13, never did I fall asleep until the wee hours of the morning, and that never was, enough.

I perched myself on the window sill and looked into the night sky, and yet again it left me absolutely speechless. So many years have gone by yet I have seen nothing half as beautiful as the night sky.

The street was so quiet and from the corner of my eye I could see our neighbours dog fur bob up and down as he searched for stray cats.

This was how I preferred the world, quiet, peaceful.

I tapped the pause button on the song that was gently playing and I went to get my Diary.

When I was younger, I wasn't too much of a fan of keeping a diary, back then I was somewhat of a tomboy and keeping a diary always sounded something so girlish but now I did, I saw how much it had helped set free my rebellious soul.

I would never tell people about my problems, poetry art and coffee was my escape, and who doesn't love a little bit of escape ?

I drew countless images of all the places I wanted to go to, I wrote about how magical it would feel to set foot on a soil which I could never call home, I drank coffee as I fantasized about living in a place where I could see the ocean waves kiss the shore every morning, and if I ever dreamt of anything, it was with my eyes wide open.

It was all I wanted to do, travel the world. Moms friends would always ask her " But oh Jess, what are your daughters future plans ? " and my mum had always said that no matter what I did, she would never stop being proud of me.

But sometimes when I look at her, it feels like her confidence in me is slowly fading away, her eyes would lose their sparkle.

Sadness was what kept my art alive, you can never do something passionately unless you have been hurt, guarantee you my life on it.

My paintings were something which I kept secret, hidden beneath the floorboards of my room lay my masterpieces, and when the whole house fell silent and my younger brother stopped screaming at his nanny, when my father retired to the bed after crunching his cigarette butts under his leather shoes, thats when my paintbrush would come out, thats when every single emotion would change from a feeling to a work of art.

I dipped my finger in the blue paint as I set to work, I took a quick sip of coffee, I didn't coffee to keep me up, it was more of a second nature to come alive during the night time. I was just addicted to it, I didn't see it as a bad thing just unavoidable.

It was going to be a long night.