Today, on January 13, I'm here exactly a year.
I started by placing one of my very first charcoal drawings ever and wrote a small poem:
She never loved attention so much, but today
she found the courage to show her face.
However, her determined and even somewhat challenging look cannot conceal her vulnerability,
because she is and remains
Of charcoal and chalk. . .
A flower that opens very carefully? A long road, a marathon but no sprint. A paper projection of myself? It doesn't matter for now.
Developments do not stand still and the story continues...
What did you read and read between the lines?
Do you remember?