A promise.

Let these be the words carved into time as a promise to myself, and a bet against my odds.

Admittedly, I grew up with no formal art training, no family in the field, and little natural talent to speak of in terms of drawing. I am no prodigy, no genius, but more of a crazed lunatic enamoured with the singing of s sirens in my unmapped sea.

But one plays the hand one’s been dealt, and if that’s my cards, then so be it.

I will learn to swim in the waters of my domain’s cognition and chart these waves till I name all of my seven seas. I will find my own style, my own voice, and learn the songs of the temptress herself. I will barge day and night against the stream, and if the metaphor shifts and rattles my perception, I will adapt to pave my route through trees, thicket, and thorn. Let the current bruise me, let the briar bleed me, but be ver will an ordeal, even this one, bust my avidity.

To the elder sister among her lucid waves in a time beyond mine present.

Signed, Aeri, 19 years old, March 12 2021