The Draw of Morning

#DRAW

It started with a need or maybe a want. It's so hard to tell them apart sometimes. I wanted drawings vastly ripe with intention. I wanted words I could cling to and wallow in, like dark mud. I needed the pencil to know it’s way across the paper like an afterthought. Gorged on memory and pretense. Needing to exist as much as I. All this, while the truth sat patiently waiting to be discovered. For it’s all just marks on paper. Isn’t it?

Still, I cherish this time when the sun and I rise together. We begin anew like it’s the first day for each of us. The same bravado. Even though we know better, we never let on. With age comes a stronger belief in the immortal and the unbroken continuousness of creation. And somewhere in the midst of all that, I have no doubt, there is a direct line to the soul.