Drawing my life
- LETTURE 915
- Voti 49
- Parti 6
Drawing had always been an escape. For as long as I could remember it had been my happiness, one of few. I had learned to draw from my grandpa, he had always told me I was a natural because I was related to Vincent Van Gogh. He said I was going to grow to be a great artist, hopefully minus the whole cutting off my ear thing. But when grandpa died I stopped drawing because every time I picked up a pencil my heart ached like it was being ripped into a thousand pieces. My best friend April is the only friend I have left, and the queen bee of the school makes my life a living Hades. But when the schools introspective bad boy, with his cliche motorcycle and leather jacket, takes an interest in me, my life does a one eighty. With his possessive and protective caveman tendencies, will he be the one to get me back to my creative happiness?
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#123
pg-13
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