Intimacy.

Today, I was in the same vicinity as somebody that I used to know. She made no attempt to even acknowledge me, and proceeded on along with her day as if I didn’t exist and I meant nothing to her. I felt very hurt. I used to be one of the most important people to her, and now I’m just a memory in her head. But tonight when I came home to letters from you, I forgot why I was ever so sad. I guess it can be true sometimes, that people walk out on you, in order for new people to walk in. Anyway, despite that, the past few nights have been really wonderful.

I smiled all day thinking of you, and so many people noticed it too. I think I needed those two nights, last night especially, to remind myself of how lucky I am to have you in my life. I feel so very close to you. I didn't even really feel the distance today, except for when I wanted to desperately kiss you. But I felt you last night. I felt that I not only kissed you, but I made love to you, and slept with you until you woke for work. It was intimate... I felt your warmth and you skin and your hands, and it was only when I looked over to the empty side of the bed when I remembered that there is distance. But still with the 4,000 miles, I feel your presence. Like you are next to me. Like you are caressing my thigh. Like you will fall asleep tonight with your head on my shoulder and our feet together. I wish I could be in your bed when you wake. I think it would be so sweet to see you first open your eyes to the morning light. How perfect it would be if I could say good morning to you, while you'd sleepily smile at me then, exposing your dimple sitting on your cheek. I would kiss your forehead gently and nudge it with my own. I would tell you then that I love you, and that I am glad I could spend the morning with you.

She's leaving and she's never coming back. And I think I finally don't care anymore.

mkp.

I can, I can, I can.

Last week, someone told me that I “painted like a woman”. The blatant sexism in that comment stung painfully. I want someone to tell me that I “paint like a painter”. What does it mean to even paint like a woman? Besides, when someone sees a great work of art, they rarely know if it was done by a man or a woman.

But also, lately, I have had a lot of wonderful and supportive feedback about my art.

"You have a lot to say, and you aren't afraid to say it. You are very brave." - My professor, Samantha Fields.

"You're an artist to me. I don't care if you are still in school for it. Your work is very honest and personal. I don't think I could compare it to someone else." – My boyfriend, Jarrett Tree.

“That looks very nice.” – My mother.

I’ve deiced what I want to do in the short years to come. After I receive my BA, I would like to apply to CSUN again for their MA program. Then, after taking some time off to work and learn on my own and make art on my own, I’ll apply for my MFA at different schools. Possibly, I’ll even apply for residency beforehand. I’m excited and nervous all at once.

To help ensure that I’ll stay on track, I’ve decided to make a list of artistic endeavors I’d like to accomplish by the end of this year:

• Make a professional website
• Make it into the student art show (crossing my fingers!)
• Make 100 paintings

The last one sure is daunting. Maybe even impossible, who knows. But if it is, I’d like to make it as high up as I can.

mkp.

Sweetness.

I made this for Jarrett in honor of today being the most ridiculous Hallmark Holiday. It's hard to refrain from being sappy and sweet with him. I would have very much liked to have him in my arms today.

mkp.

Cutting Ties.

"Hey! Isn't that..."

I turn my head, and out of the corner of my eye I see a head full of bright pink locks. I feel my cheeks growing red and warm, as I jerk my head immediately back. I take another deep drag off my cigarette.

"It's her! She's even sitting like her! Marie, look!"

"Oh... I dunno... I guess"

"What do you mean?" "You mean you guys aren't close anymore?" "You don't talk to her?"

I smiled and simply said that she just needed to defeat some demons and take a break from everyone, including me. I threw the half-smoked cigarette on the floor, and gently crushed it. I clenched my fists and walked back into the painting studio to escape from everyone. I could feel their eyes on me, even after I made it inside. How could I possibly tell them anything that didn't slightly reveal what had happened between her and I? I felt so removed from everyone the second I saw her. It felt like last semester all over again and I just desperately needed to get away from that place. I thought of her and all our painful memories, and it made me furious. I was having such a good day. I was with friends. I had a wonderful class. We had a great model for figure drawing. I was happy. I was learning to be okay without her. And all it took was to catch a glimpse of her stupid pink hair for my day to be ruined. Just to think of her for a split second was all it took for me to want to do something terrible.

I don't even think I felt hurt that she didn't bother to say hello to me or shoot me a text. I don't even think I felt compelled to say hello to her. It was a weird feeling inside me. I used to welcome her with warmth and love and all I had to offer, and for once, I just wanted to be as far away as possible from her. It was like the last time I saw her, during the final critique last semester. When she gave me a half-hearted hug and walked away to her rental car, to her home. I think a part of me knew that was the last I'd ever feel her in my arms. I think I knew that I wouldn't see her again. For some reason, I was okay with that. I still love her, but I don't think I care anymore. I don't think I can, or even know how to. Either way, she's just somebody that I used to know now.

I walked to my next class, my fists still clenched tight, my knuckles white as stars. But I saw no stars. All I saw were strands of pink wrapped around my fingers.

mkp.