it is only recently that i have realized that the lights of the world through tear-blurred eyes look like stars. do you think Vincent stood outside that night, wondering if he wanted to paint or die? i think he’d been at that crossroad many times before. haven’t a lot of us been? those nights when you sit, holding strings or pen or brush in one hand, that choice in the other. those nights when you barely manage to shake off the urge to do something that will leave you no further choices, and go create something that is lauded as beautiful, months or years later, by yourself if no one else. i go back and read my old writing sometimes, on such nights- not because it is a particular masterpiece, but because each of those works captures a choice, a faith that the younger me had, a faith that questions me even now, and makes me want to get up and take charge. and i know that some night, perhaps not far from now, i’ll read this, and to you, if you’re reading this, know that you went onward in faith. don’t break.