Fiction is the lie that tells the truth.

https://tidal.com/track/121069666/u

Today's book club gifted me this quote in response to the tragic character of our short story and her unrequited love story. And on the drive home, I visualized a desperate 50-year-old woman with the tears of a young, lost girl, who, - after her parent's divorce, a life of poverty, the death of her sister, her own abusive marriage, the end of it, a 30-year-old who filled the space until he found someone who could still offer him marriage and children, - still stubbornly held on to the lies of an unserious man and track of the time he left behind after their single encounter. She admonished herself for the beating of her heart and the desire she still felt to sink to the bottom of the river and grab ahold of something as illusive as the hatched tadpoles she references only once in her short story: love.

In today's sketch, I play with my hands and puzzle pieces and am overjoyed with what I have discovered, namely:

• The contrast in style between each hand, despite being apparent that they belong to the same person, like how one person is capable of lying to themselves while also “sticking to the facts”, or how we can be honest with ourselves while simultaneously fooling ourselves again and again
• Love how the left hand is loose and the right hand is clean he'd
• Appreciate how the stare of the left piece is almost vacant, unafflicted
• Meanwhile, the right piece is focused, waiting, attentive
• This incongruous pair is exactly what I wanna see from two pieces I hoped was obvious they did not belong together

I appreciate the items above because I wanted to capture how damaging the fiction is when absorbed by it. And it was on accident actually. I couldn't trace my right hand with my left hand neatly, and honestly, this adds even more to my treasure.

I mean -when you build a puzzle, and you don't move on from two puzzle pieces fitting together, and you FORCE them together, you end up with a missing piece once you are done. Even worse, sometimes, if you are obsessed enough, you never finish the puzzle, becoming too frustrated to continue or too disillusioned by yourself : am I good enough for this? You might think.

Fiction is the lie that tells the truth…