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Mallary Shepherd Feb 2014
And so I am asked the most obvious question,
art does not only make a difference in this world, but it changes
who we are. Everything around us I art, it is, I swear it is. Those
buildings you see, or the cars you see, or the music you listen to,
or even that particular bench you always sit at. It's art. It was once
put on a piece of paper, it was once a thought, or an idea, but instead,
it was brought to life. They put meaning into it. It became something.
I am art, I am a painting in progress, and that painting will only be complete once I've reached the end of my days, and I hope it leaves something remarkable behind. Art is the universe, it is the world,
it is everything in between. And so i'm asked, "does art make a
difference in the real world?"
Mallary Shepherd Feb 2014
And if I knew I was losing
my grasp on you, I wouldn't
fight to keep your hand in mine.
It would be a battle left in complete
chaos, leaving a disastrous defeat.
Mallary Shepherd Feb 2014
I've been through hell and i've been back. I've driven miles and never looked back. The winters always hurt, and the spring is on its way, so they say. I've ached through the days, and thought of times you held my hand and said "everything's going to be okay." I can't remember how it felt to hold your hand, my fingers were always numb from the cold bitter air. Your soft goodbyes always lingered in the air, and everything tastes like farewell. I've ached for better days and warm sunny days. I wish you had stayed. Now, the winter no longer falls under the category of my favorite things. You were my favorite season, and now i'm stuck standing out in the ******* cold hoping you'll let me back in.

— The End —