joshler

~chapter one~

tyjo

Hearing the ring of each drip and drop of the rain that had been left behind from the earlier storm brought me comfort. When the storm began my painting was is in its first stage. 

I was painting a girl. A woman is what I was painting. The woman was one of messy black hair,eye bags and  thin lips, however her eyes were special. She had large virgin blue eyes. The kind that looked like crystals when the light shined on them, but we're deep and soul full in the dark. Of course I did not paint the women in the light with her crystal blue eyes but I painted her in the dark where her eyes, her soul would be telling a story.

 I didn't find the woman I was painting attractive mostly because I didn't swing that direction but I painted her as a symbol. I made sure her hair was frizzy and messy to show she did not care for showing out for others but looking how she pleased. I made her lips thin so she would not want to be kissed, but to be listen to. She had things to say. I could not paint her voice or words. That was a lie I could. I painted her story, her intelligence, her art, her voice, her love, her passion all in her eyes. I was a mediocre painter at best but what I wanted to paint and what i wanted to portray was in my heart and I knew what was being symbolized. I never showed anyone my paintings because like explained I am mediocre at best.

 I live in a 2 bedroom apartment alone. I had a room mate but I kicked him out. He was very attracted to me and made many sexual advances toward me, I wasn't fond of him(not to mention he was always late with his rent money) I kicked him out to live on my own. I work in a coffee shop because it's close to my apartment and I don't have much skill. I went to a university for 4 years for expressive literature,  but I can't handle interviews without hyperventilating. I breath in and out quickly. Then my inhales become weak and my vision becomes spotty, usually then ending in me blacking out or dry heaving. Something about sitting and talking about myself makes me sick. Someone staring and judging my value based on worthless achievements I made over the years.

 I would like to be a writer but I have yet to find an inspiration for story. I had started many pieces but never finished always getting bored and starting new stories; usually a different genre but sometime same characters.  I like the characters I created, they were my friends. I don't have much real friends, not because I'm a like a sick freak or anything but because I'm a bit socially impaired. I don't find comfort in people, yet I do despise loneliness.  I am yet to find someone who is not like most.

~

I've never written a fan fic before so give me a break ok im trying

also title with prolly be changed