Art

I am not an artist.

There are parts of my heart that yearn to express themselves; through pictures, through sketches, through music...and every time I try to get it out, it's not what I want it to be. The pictures in my heart are richer than the ones that pop out of my camera. The drawings in my mind aren't lopsided and disappointingly two dimensional. And the songs that lie sleeping in my soul have harmonies that blend so perfectly with a melody yet unheard.

So, I write. But because the words aren't pictures or music [and we all know that a picture is worth a thousand words...music is a different language entirely] I scorn myself. I scorn the words. The thought that mere letters can express the depth of my heart on any given subject seems pathetic.

Which means I stop writing, in turn bottling up the all of the stuff that doesn't get expressed in any other form of art.

Vicious cycle, really....compounded by lack of time and a dying laptop battery.