Pablo Picasso

"Inspiration exists, but it has to find us working." That's what he said. Well I'm working now and it doesn't seem to exist.

It amazes me how talented people have that in them, the ability to always create. I've always wanted to be an artist, any kind of artist, a painter, a singer, a musician, but unfortunately, I've never had the talent. My love for art is never-ending, it is the reason I am.

I have said before that I'm a writer. I say it to myself everyday, knowing, believing that one day, I will be a writer who is read. That my writing is not simple a way out of the harsh reality we live, that it is not an escape, a hideaway.

Everywhere I look I see a story, I see something that's not really there. I remember the first time I realized my imagination. I was six or seven and in the school playground, there used to be a tree. Now this tree was unlike any other tree in school. It was different because out of the same root, grew three trees, making the shape of a cone with the pointed side facing downwards. I loved that tree. That tree was my spaceship. All through recess I would play in the tree, imagining that I was an astronaut in outer space, battling with aliens and narrowly missing collisions with asteroids and discovering new lands. It was my favorite time of the day.
And then one morning, as I walked into school, I noticed there was something different, somehow it just didn't seem right and then I saw it. The poor little stump that was once my spaceship. They chopped it down and took it away from me. I remember how I felt that I day. I remember the sadness, like losing a good friend.

I said goodbye to that tree, but everyday, I would sit on the stump and have my lunch.

I still miss that tree and I still miss being six years old again.