I Never Fell Apart—I Painted the Pieces

There’s a pattern I’ve finally noticed.
Every time my heart has shattered—
after a divorce, after death, after the unraveling of another almost-love—
I don’t collapse.
I create.

I’ve used poetry like a pressure valve.
I’ve drawn zentangles with shaking hands.
I’ve painted canvases just to hold a feeling I couldn’t name.

This is one of those pieces.
Drawn in silence. Finished in fragments.
It carries more than ink—it carries everything I couldn’t say.

Art is how I survived myself.

Not for applause. Not for attention.
But to witness what I was feeling when no one else could.

If you’re holding feelings too big for words—try letting them bleed out in color.
You don’t have to make it beautiful. Just make it yours.

This is The Creative Return.
Not to perfection. But to presence.