Friday, June 18, 2004


I wish I could call myself a real artist. I long to create, experience, live, love as an artist does. But I cannot. I hurt, I feel, I sorrow, I regret. I have all the necessary feelings that an artist should have, yet I lack talent. Right now I feel as if I could disappear from the face of the earth and no one would notice. I cannot sing, dance, create anything of beauty, and therefore I have issues justifying my existence. I work in a menial job, and I have unrealistic goals that people just laugh at me for saying out loud. I feel like I will never move out of my parents’ house, or be on my own.

But I can experience extreme joy, as well. I can laugh through my tears. I have loved more than some people could ever wish for, and it was phenomenal.

I cannot even express myself correctly. Not like I have any true friends to express myself to, other than Adam.