The Writing on the Wall

The silence of the snowdrift is haunting. You can hear for miles. The frozen air carries sound like no other. If I hold my breath, I can hear my heart beating in my chest, I focus on the constricting and releasing of the muscle mass that is keeping me alive. I exhale smoke into the grey sky. Snowflakes kiss my cheeks and the flashback to this same scene 20 years ago flashes before my eyes. I fall backward into the snow, letting the thick, fluffy cold surround me. Time stands still in my veins, although I can still feel my heart beating. Existing in this body feels strange, like it's not mine. Why do we even have hearts? Why is this "organ" the centre of our existance? Technically, isn't it only the centre of the physical existance? We make our decisions based on what we know, whether or not it's truthful information. We act on perceptions, what our senses take in and what our experience tells us. I lose my eyes, allowing myself to become lost in thought. I zoom in on a warm, winter memory. It's 1999 or sround there. I've been reading Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. I'm glad I'm old enough to start reading the books. I dive into the story, comparing Harry's experience to my own and longing for an escape of a magical world. Riddle's diary lays on the marble of the bathroom sink. Harry practices at the Quiddich pitch. Ron enjoys a feast in the Great Hall. I feel pulled to thw world of the characters. Stepping out of my skin and into their's. My mind bubbles at the possibilities inside the world of Hogwarts...it makes me really wonder if there is another world unseen. I open my eyes, the memory still fresh. I wish that we could experience our memories in full immersion. I wonder why some things feel more real than others. What makes them stand out so much more than others? Why do we sometimes struggle to recall formitive memories while trivial ones come forth at the drop of a hat? There is something not safe about the silence. I've been laying here too long. I listen hard. The cold silence is all that surrounds me. Not even the snapping of a twig, the bark of a dog or the screams of children enjoying a Saturday snofall. Something deep inside me is screaming at me to get up and move. Go back into the house. Lock the door. Bask in the warmth of the house, forgetting about the comforting cold the outside tempted you with. I shake off the snow before heading into the house. I think of how my nan would always have a steaming cup of cocoa ready after a snow-filled adventure in the back garden. I feel myself missing her more these days, the little chats, having a hot cuppa with her, our little drives together. I wonder if she knew how much these little moments meant to me. I'm sure they were everything to her. I saw her loneliness mirrored in my own. I think it further hollowed me out, without me even realising it. Inside it feels like Christmas of '97. Oz is playing in the background, Augustus Hill's smooth voice fills the room. Snowflakes stick to the glass pannels of the widows next to my bed. There is just something so loving about this light, I can't quite explain it. Staring into the face of the silver clouds, part of me wishes they would never break; that we would stay paralysed in this moment forever until the clock runs out. A cacoon of warmth that is my bed calls out to me. The ivory and greys of the blankets compliment the day and are a lovely contrast to my tattooed skin. Sometimes I like to lay fully expposed watching the shadows move across me. I loved the way the light changed the colours and tones of the pieces; sometimes they looked like they held different meanings as the colours adjusted themselves. I burough into the blankets, covering every inch of me. I'm safe inside the blanket burrito I've created for myself. Nothing can hurt me. I'm completely protected from the world. The moment of pure comfort is fleeting. I know that when I open my eyes, it won't be the same. The unrest will probably creep up the stairs and under the door. It will slither into the shadows, waiting for dark to fall so that it can creep out and grab me. I'll lay paralysed in my bed while it slithers inside of me and takes root in my stomach. I feel like everything is boyond my control these days. I'm going through the motions...I'm stuck in the middle of a storm that has no end in sight. To Be Featured in: Paper Hearts Release Date: North America: TBD UK: TBD Europe & Russia: TBD Asia: TBH South America: TBD New Zealand & Australia: TBD New information and updates will be posted here and social medias as other previews, surprise meet ups and the preposed release date. We're hoping for a December 2022 release for Paper Hearts! The book will include a preview of one other project, behind the scenes and some captivating sketches. Prints may be available. More information on that will also be released with social media as ideas becoming more and more developed. If things go well with COVID and my time off that I'm alloted with my work, I hope to do a few meet ups this year! Already in the works for March (Maine & Massachusetts) August(Massachusetts) June (London & Bristol United Kingdom) UPDATES COMING SOON!