life, passion, thoughts, Uncategorized

I am not an artist

As a child, I spent many hours upon my stomach with a pencil in my hand and a mind swirling with hundreds of images, trying to spew something resembling my dreams onto paper.  I continued my attempts throughout high school and somewhere down that line, battled spiritual and physical demons that ate away at my passion and confidence, so I turned to different studies during my university career.  I always hoped that passion would return, but it never did.  So I never became the artist I hoped I could be.

When I was young I would watch people from afar because I was quiet and didn’t want to interact with those who I so desperately wished to connect with.  I could sense their feelings and personality and life just from glancing into their eyes and therefore their hearts.  Sometimes distance has nothing to do with the skill of observation.  Through a few glances their thoughts became mine, their passions quivered through me, their emotion took hold of my heart.

At some point I swelled with the fillings of others, so much that I had to shut down everything.  That is why I lost that passion… because without that connection to the underlying emotion of humanity, I could not find a point in life’s beauty.  I still knew it was there—I know it is there—but it has slipped out of my hand and into the recesses of my mind and heart.

Here’s to getting it back.

And I will get it back.

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