Easel

My parents surprised me with an easel the other day. It was gorgeous, carved narra, taller than my rickety bookstore one.
    So I painted.
    It's a lot easier to paint, to just let colors mix and stroke the canvass with hues, because then I don't have to think about anything.

Like how I'm still at odds with my closest group of friends, over my superficial changes.
And how I won't celebrate my birthday, for the first time, with my grandfather, and how no one will probably remember that it was OUR birthday, and not just mine.

Three more days. I hope the painting gets finished before then.