We are growing. Changing.
Our thoughts now strangers where they were once identical twins in nature.
Yet, our Spirits are drawn together.
From a place in time we have no memory of.
By some entity we couldn’t try to comprehend.
Nonetheless, the beauty of our connection will always be the only proof I need…
Oh, hell no! What’s up with that doll’s face? What does she have to be mad about? She doesn’t have to breathe, or eat. No bills. Hell, she might even come with a car, a house, and a whipped boyfriend. So why does she look like every bird on earth pooped on her parade?
I know, I just went off about a doll’s face… I’m just losing my mind a little more each day. I will be alright. But that doll’s face won’t.
James Peale (1749-1831)
Oil on canvas
Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts