Sta.sh
Fave this journal (it will be your number)
Watch me IF you like my art~ ;v;
.......... The design MUST HAVE ONLY 2 COLORS; BLACK AND WHITE
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When you still had breath to speak, when your fingertips, not ashes yet, composed your last emails, we talked about what we were going to do with ourselves now that we'd graduated, now that we'd just had our eighteenth birthdays and now that we were probably grown up.
You would tell me about taking new pictures for your book; about the the clothes they had you model in, and about not feeling confident. You would tell me about how everyone at the office you were working at loved you. I knew why they loved you.
I would tell you about how I was making progress with my portfolio, and how I was nervous about presenting it to an admissions counselor at Art Center. I would tell you about how I was working on a new drawing of you, and about not feeling confident. I met with the counselor because you made me feel like I could do it.
A few weeks later, I met with the psychiatrist because after you died, I didn't think I could do anything, and I didn't. I didn't want to draw new things if I wasn't going to be able to show you what I did, especially if you weren't going to be able to model in new photoshoots or write new poems for me to read. I didn't want to go to college and have new stories to tell you if telling you stories wasn't something I could do. So I disregarded my plans to apply to Art Center, and ended up not showing up for the remainder of the semester of classes I was taking at the community college.
So for two years, I've been a brooding mess. I've known the whole time that this isn't the type of person you remember, but fighting to become some amazing illustrator with a lost best friend in mind is hard to do right away.
Two weeks ago, I finished my submission portfolio to Art Center and hand delivered it to the south campus 30 minutes before the deadline. My written statement is about you.
Today I received an acceptance letter and scholarship. I start classes on January 14th, and I'm gonna kick ass.
I want you to know that you're still the fire in my chest and the glow behind my eyes. I'm not going to walk into my first class as one of the amazing kids who stands out as gifted but none of the other kids hold a muse's hand, and I'm going to grow to make you proud. Seeing pictures of you doesn't make me sad anymore, it doesn't hurt to read notes you've written, and now when someone asks who my signature here on deviantART is about, I smile to think that it's about you.
Fortune Cookie 5%
In high school, I took AP Art Workshop 3 times, and every year after our portfolios were turned in, we were each given a fortune cookie and assigned to use our fortune as a theme for a piece.
So tonight I logged into deviantART for the first time in like 2 forevers. I saw that you posted some deviations when I was clearing out my inbox and before I got a chance to take a look at them I came across this and instantly knew who it was to. soo after reading it i'm sitting here with tears in my eyes. I'm not usually all weepy and shit, and to be honest don't know why I am now. I dunno if its because I know what you're going through, or that i still miss him too, or that I'm so elated at the way you can remember him now and smile... anyway reading your journal affirmed for me, without a doubt, that once a person has positively affected your life, no matter how little, they'll be with you forever.
Thanks to both you and Ian for affecting mine.
I know, this is a very late comment…I’ve been utterly offline and wouldn’t have written something…but felt I should. Good luck!
I usually delete personal journals since most of the time I feel it's none of my business anyway, but for some reason I refused to delete this one and it had just been sitting there all by its lonesome in my messages center. For some reason I felt like I should read it and today I finally did.
There's nothing really to say that hasn't been said. I'm glad to see you were able to turn your sadness to strength and determination rather than giving up.