Truth be told, I think the artist in me does love a good love story, does love the heroic grandeur, the caricature, the poetry, pursuit and passion. I am an artist, and foremost, human and a woman after all. But both fiction and artists scare me- them with their way with words, to turn sand into stardust, lillies into lures, gibberish to gold. After which, it all evaporates into effervescence, with nothing eternal left behind, only tangled feelings and messed up heads.
So I sit on a bench with a big-screen epic story playing behind me, while I play with my fingers and watch the sky. It scares me to know, I’m actually this scared.