Here’s the thing about writers: we live to be inspired. We’re not waiting for some diabolical sequence of habits to unfold. We watch, we wait, we study and we observe. I am most inspired when the first sip of coffee hits your lips, the moment, that single moment you first think, “Maybe I won’t go back to bed.” Why do you think that, what will you do, what is on your mind? I die inside, to be your mirror. Ruffle you hair, scour your face, tell yourself you’ve seen better days. At least your being honest, right? But as a writer, and you an artist, I am always inspired. On your canvases, live paintings I cannot put words to. It is foreign to me, but the most familiar home I have ever known. They say when a writer loves you, you can never die. It is now that I believe that when an artist loves you, you too, will live forever. In their brush stroke, the sweat of their brow, the sigh of relief when it’s finished. They’ll pick themselves apart trying to bleed the paint of a thousand murals to represent their soul in a manner to which they cannot find words. I find that unimaginably beautiful.
Alexandra L. Narron