Little, Broken, But Still Good

— Hugh Walpole (b. 13 March 1884)

I thought our story was epic, you know?

Sometimes it hits me that there’s just no way to avoid the pain of the ending of relationships. I have tried and failed to just not make connections with the people around me. I’ve experienced, according to my therapist and Google statistics, more than the average amount of deaths-of-close-loved-ones, abuse, shunning, and whatnot. Makes sense. But sometimes I look at new friends, old friends, potential futures, and all I can see is me sitting on my bathroom floor the night after my fiancé died, feeling so much pain I didn’t know if I would ever come out the other side of it at all. And I think, “that’s the price of this. That’s what you know this will end in, and you chose it anyway.” And as inspiring as that is (like: testament to the power of love that I’d choose it even when it’s so painful), it’s also just exhausting. Like, I’ve been through the funerals, and the angry goodbyes, and the email goodbyes, and the crying at the airport, and the sort-of-happy-crying over new babies and marriages, and the last outings with close friends before moving away, and the last Sundays before leaving churches, and the thought of doing it all again, worth it or not, is exhausting. It’s just exhausting. Like how grandparents just aren’t able to raise babies because they’ve already done it and they’re old and retired and tired now. That’s how I feel. I’m tired.

And yet

If I bump into your cart at the supermarket, I’m going to laugh and apologize and tell you I like your sweater and if you’re friendly and not on a tight schedule that day you might smile and strike up a conversation, and we might share a love of some item in both of our baskets and I’ll offer you a recipe that uses it and then two years later I’m texting you to see if you want to meet up for coffee at our usual spot and at that point I care about you and you care about me and we’re friends and if you tell me you have terminal cancer I’ll be fucking devastated.

There’s no way to avoid these things. There’s no way to meet a quota. As long as I’m alive, my heart is always at risk of shattering into a billion tiny aching pieces from one phone call, one conversation, one funeral. I love the ones I love now, and I choose love in my life. And I’m tired.

‘ I thought our story was epic, you know, you and me. Spanning years and continents. Lives ruined, bloodshed. EPIC ‘

brick by brick.

Perfection!

Oh, @meganwhalenturner. Oh, Megan, Megan, Megan.

It’s a masterpiece. A new Lord of the Rings.

Thank you.

A falling Crowley based on El Ángel Caído (“The Fallen Angel”) statue in Madrid

Lilt Ethuil (or Thranduil in Spring) by @brannonlasgalen (GIMP 2.8 Paint/Gif Brewery)

Inspired by The Healing of the Elvenking, Chapter 10

$535,000/2 br/1000 sq ft

built in 1909

Austin, TX 

Love. I heard of it, before. It’s a force to be reckoned with. An energy that illuminates. It’s an action that moves. A feeling that touches a person, curiously. Love. I felt it, before. It’s a sight to witness. A hell of an experience. Love. I know it. It, I know, well.

@kidgillis | love | #poetry

A Walk Through Art History

I designed these shoes with a unique goal in mind: to create a shoe as a summation of an entire culture’s art. Each shoe possesses design qualities, color palettes, and designs only found in the respective culture. This project allowed me to investigate art historical cultures in a special way by challenging myself to translate an entire style (or series of styles) onto a single object.

Conveniently, I was able to use these designs as the concentration section of my AP Studio Art portfolio and received a score of a 5! 

 I possess full federal copyright of these designs.