Making art was a therapy from feelings that I didn’t know how to express, didn’t understand... It was my crutch. But then I didn’t need it anymore.
As if we made up Shabbat.
As if we made this school rule.
As if I gave a damn if you’re shomer Shabbat or not.
Nothing would change. It would stay cold forever. I would be lost forever. Nothing would change. Except for her, this flower, from green to pink, a glorious three day peak when unfolded, you could breath her in three inches away. Sweet. Even in the rain.
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