There is some secret power of love. The ability to change the world as you perceive it, recreating each moment as a lifetime shared of experience that the artist feels the need to express, to share with someone else. Experience cannot be shared, not in that way, not completely. It is the plague of the artist. This need to express of course brings you back to the realization that though you may try your best, moving and molding words the best you can, that it is impossible. Most times you are only able to articulate it in a way that satisfies you best after the moment has passed then it barely seems meaningful in articulation. Still to the writer it is worth it, always worth it. It becomes the haunt you can't ignore. It becomes the purpose of your life and consumes every thought, it becomes that mission that must be completed and you made even more dedicated. It becomes a passion.

Passion gives each breath a whole new power within you, every thought, every movement you make releases like a sigh that emotion, that white light energy for all the world to benefit from. It drives you and makes you want to live, want to see tomorrow what new word will manifest itself to you, in the sentence you've been writing for the past 4 years. Sometimes just this simple dynamic is the only thing that keeps you.

Realizing that, you inhale deeply, filling all space within you with all else out of you, releasing it slowly back to its place. You live. Grateful for the little things in that specific day.