Creationalism.

There's a silence I love listening to. It has all of the sounds I've wanted. My mind concocts it. Not a single simple note is played and the sounds are already bouncing through my head.

I have this painting that is so hard to make. I can't think of every detail I want to add to help create. To help create what I love to use most passionately. What thinks so strongly. It hurts beyond reason, but never gives up to stay strong. A small incident and it feels like living is an infection. Bugs are scattering through and I'm just lost, hurt in my own stupid reasons. Whether it deals with me or not, there is still an effect on what path I may choose or if functioning is even a question.

It's no more though. The painting has continued. It's living on. It's adding those in that'll never be forgotten, and is never erasing. The canvas seems small, but it sure can pack a lot. And everything is visible. Every single detail. Everything has a part, small and big. Nothing is left out. Everything is there.


"It's creating yourself that's important, not finding yourself."