let lemons be angry

My arms feel like they don't belong to myself. Other than that, I feel happy being imprisoned at home. It's the only thing getting me out of making trees for now.

And somehow although all my own plans have fallen through because of this virus, I feel that staying home is all part of the plan. I would have loved to go to casual poet and to the beach. I need inspiration for my fyp, which is hitting a wall. But instead I've been having light dreams of warmth flying away and girls running, which have given me peculiar pictures that I could paint.

I just wish I could put all my friends in a jar and observe them. I'm feeling like an alien again, beaming out furry signals to planet earth and getting time-warped replies.