I found myself at eighteen sitting with it open on a blank page and reminiscing on all the stones unturned– what had become of the pile of pebbles that lay abandoned upon the riverbed? At fourteen I wanted to become a painter, but by the time I turned fifteen, I had made a rebellious U-turn into poetry and abandoned the paintbrush. Younger me had this creative naivety back then, ping-ponging between mediums and hoping one of them would stick.
💪never catch me lacking
I'm so grateful for how enthusiastic you are to read my writing <3