To choose the arts is not so much an act of passion as it is of desperation.
As it is of not knowing what to do with yourself in this world and having nowhere else to turn, standing at a crossroads, weighing what's safe against what makes you feel alive.
(Mother says you're good at math; you're good at computer
science. I've seen the world of the arts. In there you'll be mediocre
Having most your eggs in one basket, and picking the other.
(You'd have so much opportunity in a world that offers so little. You
can do what you love without sacrificing a stable job. Why are you
Remembering all those hours in classrooms and study centers, in rooms stacked high with papers and pens and ticking clocks, brain crammed with numbers and
through it all, the realization that you've forgotten what's important.
Thinking that if I go back there I'll die.
I'll die. And if I don't I'll live as if I had.
I can't go back.
Being terrified of "safe."
Sometimes art feels less like passion and more like the final frontier.
And maybe you're an artist,
Or maybe in a world that doesn't pretend to be compassionate,
you'd be the first to die.
(And maybe I'll never know the truth of it,
But I know I am desperate.)
I am afraid to say I regret, because I get stuck on things like this so easily, and besides all those big choices I've made, "mistaken" or not, have shaped who I am today.
Maybe small things are alright, like sleepily speaking out in class; doing things out of turn or off-topic; embarrassing myself; but otherwise, I should go no further.
I am who I am and I've done what I've done.
I have to move forward.
Why do you cry when you say goodbye?
Hugging in the airport, moving halfway across the world, halfway across the country;
Graduation caps flying through the air at high school, then at college;
We'll keep in touch, so why do you cry?
Look at how easy it is!
Facebook, FaceTime, Twitter, Snapchat, Instagram—
Need I go on?
Why do you cry?
Because people say that you only keep so many for life.
Because I only knew you as part of a group that no longer exists.
Because people grow,
And people change,
And I won't be there for any of it.
And messages stop coming over time,
And social media can only do so much—
Before it feels like you're stalking a stranger
rather than following a friend,
And sometimes you miss the ones you were never really close to.
Because I know our relationship isn't strong enough to last.