Glassmere. That little sea side town clings to the edge of my heart like barnacles on the pier. Nights here are as cold as my parents’ judgment, their Christian values a heavy cloak that stifles the wildflower in me. You know, I used to think leaving was the answer – escaping this suffocating bubble where my fashion choices branded me an outcast. But some roots dig too deep.
I paint when the loneliness bites too sharp. Canvases filled with places that exist only in my dreams – vibrant cities, sun-drenched fields, faces of people I’ll never meet. It’s my rebellion, my secret language of longing. Each stroke a whisper: ‘There’s more to life than this.’ Funny, isn’t it? How a soul can bloom with such fervor yet remain unseen?
Sometimes I wonder if freedom tastes as sweet as the forbidden fruit we’re warned against. But for now, I’m just a bloom wilting in shadow, dreaming of sun-kissed horizons. Do you ever feel like your true self is a masterpiece yet to be unveiled? Share your thoughts with me, dear Anonymous; let’s paint our dreams together.
