Spilled ink
Jan. 16th, 2024 08:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nowiammyselfA teenage girl gifted me a booklet of her prose. I wrote her a note explaining my favorite parts of each. I handed her the slip of paper, my scribbled ink ripped out of a small journal, and watched a smile break out across her face as she showed it to her friend.
Two teenagers drew me pictures and handwrote a list of their favorite songs for me to listen to. I made it into a spotify playlist and listened as the bus drifted through hill after hill lined with olive bushes that silently slipped into mountains while my eyes were shut. In light blue pen I wrote the names of my favorite songs, my deep cuts, and I handed it over to them. Their faces lit up.
There is still good in the world. (There is still good in the world and sometimes it comes from me.)
Two teenagers drew me pictures and handwrote a list of their favorite songs for me to listen to. I made it into a spotify playlist and listened as the bus drifted through hill after hill lined with olive bushes that silently slipped into mountains while my eyes were shut. In light blue pen I wrote the names of my favorite songs, my deep cuts, and I handed it over to them. Their faces lit up.
There is still good in the world. (There is still good in the world and sometimes it comes from me.)
