Upside Down
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2 hours ago
2 notes - reblog
blessedmoon:

One day, when I was busy drawing, I noticed there was someone sat beside me. They had large brown eyes, framed by thick glasses. They smiled sheepishly at me. I blinked, confused by… whoever it was.
"Who are you?"
They bit their bottom lip before letting their lips quirked upwards. Now that I finally had a good look of their face, they were not only look shy, but also… scared?
"I-I’m your… art," they stuttered, casting their eyes downward, avoiding my eyes.
"My wha-?”
"Your art," they repeated, glancing from behind their glasses. I scratched my head, how could my art become a person? I must be dreaming.
"Okay now, let’s say I believe that you’re my art," they bit their bottom lip again, "do you have a name? Or should I name you? Since, you know, you’re my art and all."
He shrugged. “I don’t know about a name, but you often called my Y.” Y? Or Why? Or Wye? Wait, did I often called them or something? Apparently, they took my silence as a cue to continue. “Um, yeah, you often said ‘why can’t you look better? Why can’t you end up like how I want you to be?’ and so on,” they fiddled with their finger, again, looking scared. “So I thought my name is Y?”
That clicked something in my mind. They were scared of me. They were self-conscious, because they thought I thought they weren’t good enough. Instead of saying something, I looked at my drawing in front of me. It looked decent, not like how I really wanted it to be, but yeah, decent. Years ago, I would look at this drawing and said this was one awesome art. But now, I only found mistakes in my art. Since when did I start to hate my own drawing?
I looked at them again. They shifted uncomfortably under my gaze, looked like they wished they could shrink or disappear. Guilt started to bubble up in my chest. What have I done? I love them. I had, I am, and I always will.
I hugged them tightly. They were surprised by my sudden movement and let out a small squeak, grabbing their glasses that almost fell off. I stroked their messy brown locks. Eventually, they hugged me back. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry for asking so much from you. I’m sorry for not loving you enough. I’m sorry…”
They hummed in response. I felt their lips smiling against my neck before they turned into mist.
—
I wake up startled. Only to found my sketchbook had fallen down from my grip onto the floor. I picked it up and remembered that dream. Y is not a bad name actually, but I want to call them Y for better reasons.
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