I’m so close to living the life I want.
I see it every day. I hear him read his soul. I feel her sing her heart. I am the difference between trying and doing. I’ll call myself an artist; that will make me one. Look at me, trying to be a piece of art. I’m beautiful, or not. I need you to judge me mercilessly, to have opinions about me, trite or deep.
Do you see it yet? The art that I have become. Am I giving you all that I am? Am I doing it? Am I doing it?
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