Comforting Drawings Novels & Stories

Long hours huddled away as I repeated the same doodle until it actually turned out into something good. Looking back on my old drawings was a weird balance between soothing and cringey. I took in the old drawings that I’ve given Daniella, a little surprised and kinda happy that she’s kept all of them. I could easily remember when and why I drew what I did. A good day that I wanted to share and show with Daniella. A bad day that I longed to escape. A boring day that I decided lightly doodling would help appease the boredom. My hand itches to do something.

as daunting as it was in the past. He stated, "These are particularly detailed," and I agree with him. When I went back over, I noticed the drawings I'd made of Sharon attending her various games. Drawing her legs is an occupation that I could do for hours on end without being bored with. There were further sketches of her, but they were in a different book that I never showed anyone else since I kept them to myself. I couldn't help but grin as I remarked on how captivating her appearance was.

"Hey, are you okay?" Emily shook her head, unable to find the words to explain how she was feeling.Clara sat down beside her. "Do you want to talk about it?"Emily took a deep breath, then poured out her frustrations. Clara listened patiently, nodding in understanding."It’s okay to feel this way," Clara said when Emily finished. "You're going through a lot of changes. But you’re strong, and you’ll get through this."Emily smiled weakly. "Thanks, Clara. That means a lot."Clara reached into her bag and pulled out a small sketchbook. "Here," she said, handing it to Emily. "When I’m feeling overwhelmed, I draw. It helps me process things. Maybe it’ll help you too."Emily took the sketchbook, touche

Her eyes, always so bright and innocent, carried none of the pain clawing at my chest. “Mommy,” she said softly, holding the drawing out to me. “This is what I drew today.” I knelt down and took the paper from her, trying to keep my voice steady. It was a simple drawing: the three of us — me, Tessa, and Elena — holding hands, stick figures with big smiles under a sunny sky. Somehow, seeing it made something inside me ache and warm all at once. “This is lovely,” I told her, a small, unexpected laugh escaping my lips despite everything. “You’re really getting so good at this.”

Still here, I said softly. Eli made a small satisfied sound and leaned back against my chest and looked at the room from this new vantage point with the calm interest of someone who had upgraded their view and approved of the change. I looked at the drawings above the bed. Marker on paper in the bold oversaturated colours of someone who had been given a full set and had used all of them. Shapes that suggested things rather than depicting them. A large yellow circle that was probably the sun and possibly also a face. Several figures of varying sizes that may have been people or animals or both. What appeared to be a house. What appeared to be something flying.

He thought: thirty years of Raymond's between-time and eleven years of Margaret's and all the between-times of all the people in this room and the village's accumulated knowledge of what this room should hold, and now the room holding it, the correspondence complete. He stood at the side of the weight-bearing room and watched the village's first between-time and did not speak and was in the correct position and thought about all the drawings that had arrived at this October afternoon — the six sections and the pocket notebooks and the coastal vocabulary and the hatch drawn at the height of the passed cup and the corner drawn for the children and the south window drawn at forty centimetres an

[Hyacinth] The card is hand drawn in crayon with a drawing of a wolf next to a child on the front that looks a bit more like a dog than a canine. Inside it reads "From your secret admire-were" signed in a childish hand "You know who." Bash and Drew must have stopped by to cheer me up.

I began to hear whispers. “He doesn’t,” I heard another. “He’s only pitying the poor thing. A handsome person like him could never fall for someone as ugly as her.” Hurt by their words, I immediately walked from the cafeteria, fighting back tears. Ms. Sinclair, the visual art teacher, stopped me in the hallway. She wanted me to help her after school to organize some books.

I just somehow did. I panicked she would be hurt, and grabbed her and turned. Having my arms wrapped around, though, calmed me even more. It felt weird, and I just got a sense of longing. After quickly getting changed, I grab the pad and pencil. I'm not sure why, but I always carry them with me. Finding space to sit quietly and draw often helps me control my emotions. Opening the door, Storm smiles at me. Her eyes go to the sketch pad.

“The foundation is finally level.” I walked back to my drafting table. I picked up a fresh sheet of vellum. I didn’t draw a house for a client. I didn’t draw a community centre or a lighthouse. I drew a nursery. It was a room of circles and light. A room with windows that faced the morning sun. A room where no one would ever be a ghost. Toby stood behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. He looked at the drawing, a slow, beautiful smile spreading across his face.