Some Notes On Dating An Artist

Dating an artist, you’ll do stupid things, inane things. You’ll get concussions in the middle of the park; you’ll sunburn just to watch the pink color surface under your skin. You’ll sit in their clothes, trying to understand the mind that sees twisted branches as ballerinas. You’ll drool into plastic bags and you’ll realize only when it’s pointed out that these behaviors are not normal; most couples do not whistle into each other’s mouths and discuss underwear immediately after sex. Most couples, you realize, say cutesy things like “I love you” after rose petal superficiality and poorly written romance novels; you’ll exchange it between chlorine and argon, because there is something dangerously attractive about an artist who knows the periodic table.

( more notes on dating an artist here )