“pray nobody kills me for the crime of being too small”

There was potential in her old bones, even after all the whitewash destruction the previous owner had done. There was personality in this house and we would let her shine again. Old Victorians are paint ladies. Painted. Or at least should be cousins to the concept of color. Not drenched in flat white or eggshell or creme or whatever heinous color painted, dripped, and filled each detail of this beautiful girl. Woman? I suppose if cars and boats can be ‘she’ so can houses, right?

I want to wrap you in art

Let the canvas wrinkle and crinkle around the curves of your body

Becoming exactly who you are