Your Talents Haven't Gone Anywhere, Even If You Don't Think So

    
        So, it's a noticeable thing that as we grow older, people seem to stop doing the things they love. The things that make them happy. It's like in the midst of school, and part time jobs, interning, paying bills and living like parents, we forget there are things we actually like to do. That life hasn't always been a jumble of making sure we have enough money to afford  food, and that the talents we used to have, that we forgot about, are somehow still inside of us and haven't died with our "what if's" and "I don't think I have time right now".
     It's weird how when these talents leave us for such a long time,  you start to feel slightly  guilty - even though despite the guilt you don't start using them again. You don't suddenly decide one morning, I'm going to start today. No matter how long the nagging goes on.
Why? I think it's because inside us we're all  scared, and somehow afraid. Because as  much as we want to sing our  hearts out, or dance until we can't feel where we are anymore, we're scared that we you might not be able to fully do what we miss if we try to start. How often these fears plague us and poke at us and how often we do nothing about them. We continue to live, somehow pushing the thoughts to the back of our minds until they drop into our hearts and form a tiny black hole, the shape of a sunken dream.
      My dear, it is nice to note that you cannot write in your  memories, or dance in the space of your mind. Art is art, but only expressed when performed or put down for other to see. so put your fears aside, and do the thing that you miss. So that we can say, at the end of our days, after our college degrees, and job hunting, when we are dancing in the wind or spending time outside, pedaling our bikes, and climbing to the tops of trees, and mountains, when we met a person whose hearts sync with ours, and we have little ones to tell tales to, that we did not leave our dreams behind n the debris of broken childhood dreams, but that you read a little rant, written by a girl, and that you picked up your dream, and dusted it. And that it was still a little rusty, but it was all you had, and it made your heart happy.
     That you carried it with you, like a lamp, and used it to light paths, and make stories for others so that they could be inspired to keep their dreams with them as well. That you have used your talents well enough, that when life gets slow and steady, and you have lain in bed to rest, the lord may say, "Come, rest, you have done well".   



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