I wish I could paint a picture. On canvas with colorful brush strokes. It would hang in a museum to share with the world, so bright and radiant. To interpret as you wish. For people to look at and wonder what was on my mind while I held that brush. For it to have meaning to each visitor. Whether it be happy or sad. My own Van Gogh, painted with pain and anguish for the world. For me.
I wish I could pick up a guitar then put a pencil to paper and write a song. A song to share with the whole world. A song to sing to people on the street as they toss their change into my guitar case or on a stage with the audience singing to me as if they wrote it. I hear their happiness or is it sadness, so loud and clear. A song that will last generations and is no longer mine but everyone’s. Forever.
I wish I could write a story. A story penned so eloquently with my pain and suffering. A story I can share with the world. So people could read and understand that they are not alone in their suffering. Written for me but knowing there are others that can’t pen their feeling as I can. With the hope that they may someday meet me and say thank you for writing what they feel. They have healed. My gift to them.
I can’t paint nor play a guitar. I can’t pen my thoughts eloquently.
But I can dream.
Till we meet again. Good Day.
Mind of Shoo