You are an artist. You have the mind of an artist. But you never had it in you to call yourself that. You thought it a disrespect. You can't draw, you can't paint, you can't sing, you can't write in verse, you can barely count syllables. But you are an artist. In the future of your own mind you are the savior of the masses, the last glimmer of light in an age evermore embracing the darkness, and yet you think you are nothing special. Your thoughts and your mind are in discord.

Your friend is an artist. She is a poet. She knows her way with words. She thinks herself as an artist. And yet she wishes she could write the way you do. She spends her day in crisis. She feels trapped in a world of possibilities.

You feel trapped inside your own mind. You spend your day staring at a blank page.

You spend more time smelling the pages of a book than reading it. She spends more time counting them.

You are artists. You can't save each other so you try to save yourselves, together. Now you want to go, now you want to stay.

There is nothing wrong with you two, it's just the world around you that's wrong. You want to change it, she wants to make it right.

Whatever happens, I'm rooting for you two.