To be an artist would be a great adventure.
I wish that I could be an artist with everything inside of me..?.. “I wish”… words that don’t normally come out of my mouth.
Could it be that something inside of me is changing; that the impossible is becoming possible once again; that the world doesn’t seem such a cruel place after all?
Oh, but alas, my old self will not let me forget the tortures of this world; my old self will not let me be content in my emotion.
When I recollect that I am human and neglect to hate my self for it, the voice inside screams, “You were happier then!” a lie that rings so true.
The object of my uniquity gone. Taken by that which makes me weak. And that which makes me weak making me strong… Living in that paradox is beautiful and astounding.
Art; true art, is a perfect balance of reality and “the way it could be” in the eyes of the person doing the balancing. Could it be that I am an artist? Could it be that everything that I wish for is actually real. Could it be that this balancing act that I do, I merely take for granted. And could it be, that after all this time there really is no answer, but just more questions?
I don’t really know. In fact I don’t even know what I’m waiting for, but what I do know is, that no matter how hard I try, unless I’m looking for another question, I’m not going to find a thing….
And that’s beautiful.
