you answered yes.
let's keep going
My exhaustion now faded, as one strong storm suddenly passed, I seek refuge in the rich oil paints that stain my fingers, somehow thicker than blood. Carefully - and yet not carefully in the least - I lock my soul in there into the crevasses of the fine sterile white canvas- finally some parts of me concrete; finally some rigidity & sureness as the layers & layers hover silently, waiting, drying with the passing of these numbered days.
Walking through these fresh autumn sunsets, I believe surely I will live in these careful scenes which I paint so eloquently so carefully when death finally comes to take me at the end. One can dream the afterlife in question should be so fluid, so dreamlike, so freeing. For there is no map here: only the rustling of the yellowed leaves - gentle & calming, praying to an absent god that the storm may not return; as surely it will - must - someday. But meanwhile I will flutter through the calming serenity building and building always the layers in order to protect the fragile soul before those wretched winds roar back once more with their quiet tempting aching saying, fail, fail, and fail once more.