S O U L P O E T

Come and Go

My dog ate my art book.
Chewed it to pieces, you see,
she's just a little puppy theres no way I could be mad at her
but, it was my art book.

It was small.
Hard cover, black, with a spiral spine
and it was filled to the brim with comics,
caricatures and comments, it was my story.
Ive had that art diary since I was 8 years old and I'm almost 18 now,
it was so old one of the pages began to grow a tiny bit of mould but I still didn't have the heart to tear out the page.

When I saw it splayed out in pieces on my lawn I was shocked, wandering how she got it and who left it outside but as I tried to pick up all the pieces I sighed as I realised, it was just a book,
these things come and go.
The only thing that matters is how I felt in the moment of its making.
Every time I picked up a pen and drew again and again gave me experiences unique to that moment,
the book was only a friendly reminder.

So as I picked up 8 through 18 year old me, I was reminded that I only needed a new book, a new addition to my life's library to look back on fondly. And I guess being an artist makes this realisation more permanent,

things come and go and without realising it,

I am capturing its transience.

No one will remember how I felt at 9 years old except this old and now destroyed book and that is the beauty of it,
because things never remain, we must come to terms with the beauty of constant change,
but we must never forget how it made us feel in the moment.
And although my art book is done now,
those feelings are within me and its not hard to see what I may or may not need in the years to come,

I'll get a new art book, and i'll capture something else in a moment, and one day,
i'll let that moment go.