PROJECTS

SPITE PHASE

June, 2019

Red. I could see it for miles,  millions of reds freckled the vacant field.  I could swim in it, I yearned to. The flamboyant aroma of the blooming rubies raced into my nostrils and my skin felt a warmth that became almost unrecognizable.  For the first time in what felt like years, I had nowhere to be, no one growling my name, no alarms preparing to shake me back into the real world. 

      Once upon a time, I lost myself, as many do. I envy those who never became blind to their own reflection, but instead built onto themselves. That is a rare case in the game of growing up. I've always known I was small, literally of course, but mentally; emotionally. I was microscopic.

    But losing yourself seems like a fantasy sometimes. Why drown in the debt of life with only an anchor as thin as paper? You would think I found bliss in escape.

  But what if you aren't really losing yourself, instead looking into a reflection of broken memories and fragments of what used to be, what once was? What if, just what if, you aren't really who you thought you were?