quote by jane austen; print by Ex Libris Journal
god, is it scary this quote just feels so completely right on? kinda makes me laugh, kinda makes me cry … obviously! haha. i wonder. is this a definition most artists would find fitting? we feel it big no matter which way we’re feeling and we’re always feeling pulled by both poles? i’ve had moments where i found a pile of fruit dropped from a tree incredibly agonizing. but a dead mockingbird, wings pulled in tight, as if it were sleeping peacefully on its back, that was so beautiful, hopeful even.
is this just what it means to be human? is this definition i find so completely comforting indeed comforting? or is it the definition you’ll find in the DSM under some cruel mental disorder?
i find waiting for your responses both agonizing and hopeful.