Daisy's POV
When I paint all of my anxiety seems to just drop, like this enormous weight is lifted from me, as if I was a completely different person. I'm not this sad, helpless girl anymore, instead a fearless freak who is confident enough to do what she pleases.
I've never met a person who quite understands me or my artwork, but it's okay because I understand it. I know what it means. I know what I mean. ——
My paint, color coordinated, acrylic flat; acrylic satin; acrylic gloss. Each handpicked from my brain.
The ideas I have come from things I see around, like if I see a wheelchair I think of what that wheelchair would look like if it had been a person. Old, fragile, broken, yet happy because it has the satisfaction of knowing it's helped others.
I packed my easel gently in such a way that it wouldn't break if we hit a large bump in the road. (my dad is a reckless driver, but he'd never put us in danger intentionally)
We are moving, again. We don't move that often but we do, it's big. My mother got a job offer in a small town in upstate New York called Dryden. I whipped out an old country map that was stored in the attic, and I began to trace our journey, It's going to be a long drive.
YOU ARE READING
In Due Time
Mystery / ThrillerA family of 5 move to a small, average town. When strange things start happening to them they begin to stitch together missing pieces of the towns history. DUN DUN DUUUNNNN (Please read this lmao I'm desperate.)