Hilary D Zamora writes and paints

"Subconsciously my mind was carving another notch into the figurative bedpost of my memory. When I would feel my eyes glaze over like lacquered, shining objects, objects of my affection, I felt somehow completed. I could feel when they strayed far away, seeing nothing but a blurry distance. I’d feel the shift of my eyes fluctuating into a child’s pair of cat’s eye marbles, when my day would stray into a timeless daydream. I’d drift away in my fragile canoe of sedation, fingertips grazing the water, stirring tiny ripples, and my temperament would shift gears into a relieved state.” ~Hilary D Zamora