Friday, December 20, 2013
This post is an adieu to diaries.
Her name was Anne and she resided in many a notebook in sole objective of laying a faithful ear to my destitute adolescent woes.
my mom sucks.
(But my mom doesn't really suck.)
I can't understand why my best friend acts like this.
(And yet maybe nobody could understand me.)
why do boys never pay attention to me? More importantly, why does HE never pay attention to me?
(And yet he always did.)
It's been about a year since I ditched Anne for the grander scheme of art journaling. And yet I can't absolutely leave her. Sometimes, an epistle in her honour provides comfort such as nothing else can provide.
(I generally finish one notebook per season. That is, my notebooks are tinged with the emotions of "spring" or of "summer" or of "winter." Because that's how my emotions go. With the seasons, that is.)
Here are some pictures of the spring collection.