We all carry hidden worlds inside of us. Little theaters where conversations play out, where we could imagine what could be said, how things might unfold. Yet most of the most of those scripts never make it past the stage in our minds.
It presses on my soul, it won’t let me rest, keeps pulling me forward.
Yet, through the fear and the unknown, I hold on to a fragile but fierce belief; that one day my art will reach someone the way it should, my actions will breathe hope into weary hearts.
Sometimes we really wish people would come through for us just as we are always there for them, but it doesn't happen that way.
It is really disheartening, but that's fine.🙃