I fucked up, Zonk. I made the most perfect painting I’ve ever managed and then I screwed it up. It’s an unfair Universe. It could have let me know when to stop but it didn’t and I put one fingerprint too many on the paper and I ruined my perfect painting. I tried to patch it up, but it won’t work, Zonk. And I tried to fix the patch but this painting is on paper and it’ll just tear if I try to do any more to it.

It was perfect, Zonk. What am I going to do now..I can’t even start over because I know it wont turn out the same way again.


Author: Kirtana K

I paint and make music and blog like a maniac. These days I try to run. But I have chicken legs and lungs the size of two-rupee balloons. I fail. I like pajamas and striped socks and books that read like song and songs that sound like poetry and strangers who read this page. And Maggi when I'm sick or cold or sad or celebrating. They'll find noodles in my veins if ever they cut me open. And potatoes. And maybe a tiny bit of whiskey. I'll be an Unidentified Living Object and they'll put my insides on display. It will be crazy. It will be awesome. It will.

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