[winston]

To love, purely and destructively. It is to smile even after my eyes are swollen red, even if it hurts to raise my cheeks. It is to hold my own hand and to gently sweep away the hair covering my eyes. It is to memorize all the flowers because you love the gardener. And it is to tend the garden after the gardener is long gone. It belongs to me and only me, yet I don’t control it. I have no say in it and it is the one that hurts the most. But it’s the most beautiful one to me too. For it makes me feel human. For it lets me share the pain of everyone who has ever been lovesick. And it is a sickness. Well, at least that’s how it is for me.

Symbolized by any and every color. Love isn’t a single emotion but rather a hodgepodge of feelings. But Winston is far more than love. Winston is obsession. He is delusion. A stunning delusion that I can’t help falling for every single time. A delusion guised as a promise. He is a false reassurance, but a reassurance, nonetheless. 

Every sentence I put into Winston’s drawings tends to place a guilty feeling on the viewer. Though, that’s obviously not the truth. Love is manipulative at times. And it shouldn’t be. But I can’t learn. And I can’t teach what I can’t learn myself. 

Winston and Kuu are very similar in my eyes. They just deal with the same emotion differently. 

It takes a while to break.