Here’s to the artists and inventors.Here’s to the ones that create. Here’s to the unseen paintings and the unheard songs; to the unread stories and to poetries unknown. Here’s to the ones that make without ever fearing no one will ever see their creation. Here’s to those who are afraid to do so and here’s to them finding the courage to be artists even if no one ever will call them by this name. Here’s to you, dear friend, calling yourself a writer✍🏻, a poet🗣, a painter🎨, a singer🎤, an artist🎭-here’s to all the ones calling the art out of you.
Slowly but suddenly, I felt a part of me breaking away, breaking free of the tendons that held it in place, and separating itself from my body. Not completely; it was still attached but, in a beautiful way, it was also free.
A part of me-a single, brave part of me-was blooming. My first petal unfolding.
“What are you doing?” I cried out. “Can’t you see where we are? Can’t you feel the dryness of the desert? The hopelessness of this unending wilderness?”
But it kept blooming.
This little piece of faith untangled itself from my doubt and started growing, becoming.
Sure, I was afraid…but I had to learn that there is no fear in Love; I had to learn that the blooming takes place in the desert, not after it.