When I was seventeen in early January of my junior year in high school

I picked up a pencil and drew something out of boredom 

a doodle of a girl with a bandana in her hair smiling at the sky

for no reason at all and I thought hey this isn't too bad at all 

you see I hadn't doodled or scribbled or sketched in a long time

because I allowed myself to be occupied by other things 

but now here I am sitting on my bed at two-seventeen in the 

afternoon on a Saturday because I felt this urge in me to go and

create something a new character who wore bandanas and smiled at the sky

because hey why not you know the sky is pretty amazing once you stop

to look at the clouds and make out pictures in the clouds to draw yourself

when you get home because now you have a passion inside of you that

makes you happy and fulfilled even though there are piles of unfinished work

on your desk and the laundry is starting to smell but hey you are drawing 

a girl this time with a hat on her head and glasses on her face playing

with a dog that you always wanted as a kid and that girl soon gets a family

 and a neigborhood and city and a story that you created all on your own

because hey you enjoy this it makes you happy so why shouldn't you 

sit on your bed all day drawing girls and boys with dogs and cats living

in neighborhoods you created because you are an artist and what you do

is special so don't listen to what anyone says about practical careers

because in the end when you are dead and buried in the ground your 

boys and girls with cats and dogs living in neighborhoods is what will be 

left behind in memory of you and what seemed to make you happy. 



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