I hated that I felt tethered to someone, and I didn’t want to admit it when I was alone, but it didn’t matter because my thoughts always came out on paper, and the last few times I’d lost myself to sketching, I’d found myself blending the charcoal until I got the perfect almond-shaped eyes that I was aiming for. The memories that I’d pushed away, the violence in my childhood—all of it—always came to me when I sat, mindlessly sketching. But things had shifted recently. I began drawing other things. Like Isaiah. And that was when I realized that I was hiding him, too.
