12: Comfort - Dec 2021

Warm Black Hug

Sometimes it comes back, like a warm black hug, that familiar, settled, heavy blanket. I spent years with a seam ripper, trying to rip each stitch apart before their shredded threads would sew themselves in again, to make up for what was missing. Eventually, I finally broke it – the weight became too heavy in the bathtub. soaking through. I lost it then. I lost it in the tub, with my guitar and my bruises,…

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12: Comfort - Dec 2021

Erik

You are not here As my eyes scan your face each day wishing this photo wasn’t a momento mori. You are not here in the studio upstairs, In the unfinished portrait I began, what seems like years ago, in these 2020 times. Paint and brushes waiting. But you are not here. I wanted to paint so I could grieve I wanted to brush life into your face. To say goodbye. To trace your eyes, in…

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