So these are meant to be the prototypes of a new series I had planned. They are automatic writings and drawings based on things I was reading at the time as well as my own immediate thoughts. I wanted to transform them into a more finished work. Unfortunately, I have no motivation to do it anymore.
Drawn using white pen on black (Daiso book) paper.
He’d blend in with the rest on the city streets. Another faceless man to walk by, plain and fatigued.
He is lost in the thoughts of a childhood he never experienced. Everything was better because it never happened. Every success praised, every failure comforted. The young child is inspired and full of dreams. In his eyes not a hint of distress and the only tears he shed were tears of happiness. He is among friends, unaware of what solitude felt. He would go on exceeding expectations and live every day of enjoyment. Birthdays are celebrated. Smiles and laughter. They all love him. He could feel.
His only wish was for it to be… but it’s only better because it never happened. He sits alone now, holding his knees and staring at the vacant space of the suffocating room. He is the child of dreams, he is the man of delusions. How pathetic it is, to be killed by memories of a fictional past. So, selfishly consider that his pain is nothing compared to others’.