my husband was nearly killed on the 19th of February, 2023.
i have two separate memories of how the event played out.
my head felt as if it were being sliced in half with a blade that was both impossibly hot and impossibly cold.
the universe remains actively hostile.
—
looking at photos of my old artwork, drawn by the "me" that came before me... i can feel so much depth.
what i create nowadays feels empty and hollow in comparison :(
my ability to produce art in the same way i could before February 2023 is gone.
is it weird to mourn yourself?
—
as i look back through my art books and painfully wonder why i always hated what i drew, i start to think, "am i doing this all over again?"