Pari I Was 50 Days Past My Fifth Birthday, When For The First Time I Drew A Picture, And Handed It Over

Pari I was 50 days past my fifth birthday, when for the first time I drew a picture, and handed it over to my father.

One of the best things about a written work❤️

Every single reader of a novel has a different mental depiction of everything going on.

You Won’t BELIEVE How Many Em-Dashes Local Writer Can Squeeze Into One 5K Word Fic

Me: oh oops I almost drank my paint water lmao

The pretentious man writing my life: this is what drove him crazy about her, her wildness, her insanity. One moment she was peaceful, the artist in her nest - the next, she dived into chaos, dined on it, challenged it. Just when he thought he understood her, she moved to again rewrite her definition, always unknowable, always glittering like the ocean, hinting at a story yet untold, laughing at a joke not meant for him, her eyes twinkling with secrets and humor and the otherworldly feminine. She was surrounded by color, loved it so much she tried to pour it inside of her, tried to poison herself with it, tried to paint even her organs. He wanted to kiss her, to entangle that art into his own skin - but the moment was passed. She was again order, peace. The chaos ceased. He didn’t even get to touch her boobies.

secret government agent: *punches me in the face* say it

me: never

secret government agent: Say Draco Malfoy doesn’t deserve a redemption arc

me: *spits in their face* Fuck you