this is for us.

This is for us who sing, write, dance, act, study, run and love

and this is for doing it even if no one will ever know

because the beauty is in the act of doing it.

Not in what it can lead to.

This is for the times I lose myself while writing, singing, playing

and no one is around and they will never know

but I will forever remember

and that shines brighter than any praise or fame or glory I will ever have,

and this is for you who write or play or read or sing

by yourself with the light off and door closed

when the world is asleep and the stars are aligned

and maybe no one will ever hear it

or read your words

or know your thoughts

but it doesn’t make it less noble.

It makes it ethereal. Mysterious.

Infinite.

For it belongs to you and whatever God or spirit you believe in

and only you can decide how much it meant

and means

and will forever mean

and other people will experience it too

through you.

Through your spirit. Through the way you talk.

Through the way you walk and love and laugh and care

and I never meant to write this long

but what I want to say is:

Don’t try to present your art by making other people read or hear or see or touch it: make them feel it. Wear your art like your heart on your sleeve and keep it alive by making people feel a little better. Feel a little lighter. Create art in order for yourself to become yourself

and let your very existence be your song, your poem, your story.

Let your very identity be your book.

Let the way people say your name sound like the sweetest melody.

 

So go create. Take photographs in the woods, run alone in the rain and sing your heart out high up on a mountain

where no one will ever hear

and your very existence will be the most hypnotising scar.

Make your life be your art

and you will never be forgotten.