A masterpiece doesn’t start out a masterpiece.  It starts merely as an idea.  The finished piece appears flawless, the spectator perspective to appreciate.   What we don’t see is the the mistakes, and trial and error that was this masterpiece’s journey.

The journey.  I’ve talked about it a lot.  I’ve found there is no linear path.  There are many rough drafts.  The masterpiece isn’t mine to enjoy.

My thoughts don’t normally have a consecutive pattern.   Like a boomerang, a thought goes out and when it comes back the velocity will be different on its return.  I’m not striving for perfection.  I’m striving for the little movements.  A string of little movements that in their own density will create the momentum of a rough draft of my life.

It is you, my dear, that turn a draft into the masterpiece.  It is all the unique elements of the relationship that orbit my energy in chaotic order and mass.

You my dear, have turned this rough draft into a work of art that is uniquely yours.

Music mood:  The Cure:  “Love song”

Neurally yours,

Hemingway’s girl xo