it’s not about leading a life of adventure or spilling magical tales. it’s not about impressing them with big words or fancy tricks. it’s not about trying too hard to be whatever it is you think they want you to be.
they might say it is, but don’t listen to them. they are just as scared as you are.
listen to your heart, and speak whatever is on your mind. be yourself. that is being real. that is being beautiful.
i know i say it like it’s easy, and it’s not. sometimes i just want to hide, too. i want to crumple myself into a ball and roll under the bed and stay perfectly still. i want to erase these words and paintings and leave the screen blank, and that’s okay. it’s okay to be quiet, and i have to remember that, too.
but something inside me tells me to keep going, that there are stories worth telling, that there are people listening. maybe it’s that same something that compels you to write, too.
the words you shared with me spoke volumes, more than anything anyone else could have said for you. please don’t stop that. please keep writing, even if it’s just pencil scribbles in a spiralbound notebook. but don’t do it for them. do it for you.