Lexi is woman of little words. Her hair is the color of blood and her eyes are perpetually set to kill. She has lips that begs to be worshiped and legs that go on for days. Her body, small and full, strains against itself in her bid for self-destruction.
She speaks only when she is spoken to and she goes wherever the wind takes her. But she is far from docile, no, it is indifference. A long time ago she has felt every single emotion in the world and now, everything she feels is a shade of what she has felt before.
What a terrible thing it is to be her.
Tried to draw her raw without an eraser and I hated her right eye and I hated the hard lines of her hair and more than anything else, I hated myself for being so bloody untalented. This was working!
Overloaded on the eraser and had to work over the indents from my previous harsh lines. Compared the two drawings and realized I preferred the former and almost kicked myself.
Gave her the color I thought she deserved but as it turned out, she probably belonged in the black and white world after all.
It took me immense courage to start drawing again. If you don't start, you can convince yourself that maybe you're good at it, you just don't know it yet. But when you start, you will begin to see clearly where your potential stretches till.
I kept telling myself she's gonna hate me for every new stroke I added and every new gradient of color I offered. But in the end, she looks as she is supposed to,
Inadequate.
What a fitting thing.
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