I’m always trying to outrun the thought of you.
So I paint. It started as a way to stay busy,
but now it’s just how I survive the silence.
My stuff looks great—bright, bold, impressive even—
and I can almost lose myself in the colors.
But honestly? It’s all a lie.
Under every layer of paint, it’s just you and us.
It feels wrong, almost creepy, how much I’ve hidden
behind these frames just so I don’t have to
look you in the eye anymore.
Mar 9
Mar 9, 2026 at 10:52 AM UTC
I’m always trying to outrun the thought of you.
So I paint. It started as a way to stay busy,
but now it’s just how I survive the silence.
My stuff looks great—bright, bold, impressive even—
and I can almost lose myself in the colors.
But honestly? It’s all a lie.
Under every layer of paint, it’s just you and us.
It feels wrong, almost creepy, how much I’ve hidden
behind these frames just so I don’t have to
look you in the eye anymore.
