Don't Write Tired

Tiredness filled the page. The young artist watched as the canvas filled itself with ink, almost by magic. When he awoke in the morning he didn't know who'd been in his drawing room. He remembered a rough sketch, a simple idea, and a palette full of colours which he didn't know what to do with. When he awoke his ideas had been realised, his palette emptied, he almost felt betrayed. His subconscience came out and it filled the canvas and something about it made him sad, hopeless. Somehow it felt like he didn't own the beauty because he didn't remember creating it.

Who knows where thoughts come from. They just appear. That's right Lucas. That's right.

I have a blog? I have a blog. I'm at uni... versity. Glasgow, since you ask. Updates will begin again. Sometimes you get so lonely in this place all you can do is write. Especially when you can't download. Then you upload.