Spin me in the rain so I remember romance . . . or my tires come out of the mud

An artist usually starts with a face. The arch of an eyebrow or the flare of a nostril, the one look that depicts mood. I start with my face. The cast of an eye, the hidden lips, the raised cheeks, the one look that depicts my mood: curiosity.

I don't know what the future holds: widened eyes
I wish that I knew right now: creased eyebrows
But my stomach still tingles: bitten lip
And I want you around: half smile
But in all this I don't know what to do: dropped chin

Perhaps i can use music as my lifelong balm, the friend that never leaves, the relationship that never hurts, the one thing that never fails to make me smile and lie back peacefully. I would never be afraid to say what i feel to my favorite song. I can always take it off infinite repeat.

But the order of the spheres demands more of the homo sapien. Something like emotion and personality and release from constricting clefs. Despite my ability to move, my brain still doesnt translate the condons that carry instructions for growing clarity.

But about one thing i am certain; if i were faced with a cliff and given a parachute, i would leap. But right now there is no cliff, no clouds, no parachute, and no danger. So why do i second guess the hardest path? I like my straight road, my uncomplicated mess.

They say an artist should always start with a face. Closed mouth equals closed issue.

There was one night in my closet when i let go. Two paintings and four short stories later i found exactly what i was looking for on a commercial for Mastercard. Over-thinking things sends you into a blinding spiral of rhetoric where one can talk yourself into and out of anything. Under-thinking things can lead to broken hearts. But avoiding issues means you don't have to talk about it. The "oh-i-didn't-get-your-text-so-we-don't-have-to-be-awkward" approach works well for me.

Closed issue equals closed heart.

But I am so young. I am so alive. And so young. And i have time. The clock ticks slowly. The earth rotates onward but the days appear longer. Time is the issue. Lack of time is the issue. This conversation is the issue. I am the issue.

And the rain pours down. I like the rain. I really do. I tried the sun for 28 days. Then went 450 days without and i was fine. I am too tired or too lazy or too scared to move where the sun always shines.

I'd like to make myself believe that crap.

I desire the sun. The life within me swells. The birds fly up in a carpet. The orange of the light shines on those that choose to breath. I reach out and touch one canvas. My canvas.

tense body: nervous excitement
outstretched hands: willingness to spin
upturned face: trust
squinted eyes: from bright sunlight and a throaty laugh

Perhaps we can start with moving my canvas into the sun where at least I can see what i am painting.

open mouth: to catch the raindrops from this rainbow