I leave you my portrait so that you will have my presence all the days and nights that I am away from you.
I am that clumsy human, always loving, loving, loving. And loving. And never leaving.
To trap one's self-suffering is to risk being devoured from the inside.
To feel the anguish of waiting for the next moment and of taking part in the complex current (of affairs) not knowing that we are headed toward ourselves, through millions of stone beings - of bird beings - of star beings - of microbe beings - of fountain beings toward ourselves.
I am not sick. I am broken. But I am happy as long as I can paint.
Your word travels the entirety of space and reaches my cells which are my stars then goes to yours which are my light.