Art feels like the difference between living and surviving. Maybe that's why my hands are always making. Each pencil pressed against my skin a silent scream for something great. A dream I dared to animate, breathe life into. They say to heal trauma is not to become ready to cope with the pain but instead the ability to bear joy again. The life I dream with you feels rebellious. It feels far-fetched and delightful. It lights small flames of hope inside me. I am either a fool or living on the edge of what I am capable of. I have breathed life into a co-created dream. Tenderly nested and spoke of my love for them. Kissed them until my lipstick wore off. Was drunk in their laughter. I know what it feels like to simply survive. It's a place much easier to rest in than to return to.