I feel like my life is made up of empty notebooks, sketchbooks, and promises
I try to write it out, draw it, and express it, but it never comes out right. The words are never enough, the picture never clear, it just mixes into a jumble of splattered ink and paint.
So instead of making art. I plan, collect, and listen to it. I just never make it.
I stare at my stacks of empty notebooks and sketchbooks, wishing I could paint them with the pictures in my mind. Wish, I could articulate my point of view. Make something memorable, something to prove, I haven't wasted my time or my life.
Because if I don't break the cycle. This is all I will leave behind...