Wines & Prologues

We have been told that once in our lives, if fate permits, we should try to earn and receive the love of a writer, a painter—an artist. For the way they see love, the way they pour it into paper, onto canvas; the way they mold their feelings with clay and carve their emotions into wood; the way they express through different notes and create a love so pure, so deep, that every stroke, every letter, is imbued with a soul aching to give—overflowing with words that fuel their passion to create what their lips couldn’t utter.

But have you ever wondered what it’s like to receive the wrath of an artist?

To break their heart so deeply that suddenly nothing is enough to fill the icy void that was once full of warmth. That suddenly, red stains the walls and the floor; sculptures deform; glass shatters; words appear on paper describing you in the most wretched way—words no one could swallow, even crumbled to bits and pieces.

To love an artist is to enter a place of softness, of magic.
And to break them… is to be subjected to hell without even realizing it.