A short story…
I was born in the afternoon in the south of England along with a twin brother. I grew up in the countryside, surrounded by sheep and the night sky. With encouragement from my family, especially my grandfather I started drawing and painting. As I grew older, I learnt how my whole family were a bunch of creatives mixed. Architects, illustrators, interior designers, creating computer software and the like. As though it was a part of me I drew and drew. In most stories, bad things happen and so they did. My love for writing and drawing fled along with hope. As time passed by, the realisation of what I had lost to people and circumstances grew. The need to fix this was urgent and vile. I grew anxious at drawing and ill at the thought of writing. My life felt not my own as if I was playing a role in a heinous play. Sometimes the realisation to fix things is like a slap on the face, a scream in the back of your mind and at other times it's a silent whisper. Something was wrong and needed help to grow. It's not an easy process, nor a fun one but my love and hope have come back with force. Making right all those years without it. This is not a fun or complete story but it is mine nonetheless.