A Hidden Sketchbook of Desire

I never thought I'd admit this even to myself until last week. My sketchbook has become a place where I hide my truest desires, little girl, daddy's girl stuff. It started as an innocent doodle and somehow blossomed into a full-blown fantasy world that I secretly long for but fear might consume me if anyone found out. The other day, while drawing these sketches, it all felt so real. My hand wouldn't stop shaking, my heart racing like when I was in the throes of something forbidden. And then there's the part where I feel this deep need to submit, no matter how old or independent I am now, and find comfort and strength in that submission. It’s scary, but it’s also incredibly freeing to express these feelings through art. The irony is, while my drawings are vivid, I hesitate to put words down; maybe because the act of drawing makes it all feel more acceptable somehow. Even as I confess this here, I’m still torn between embracing what I want and fearing how others might see me.