I think that when I tell people that art saved me, I’m not sure that they believe me. That I’m a fool and that art is for the eccentric and the lonely. That a form of entertainment can hold so much meaning to one person may baffle them. Maybe it is *******. Maybe art didn’t save me and I somehow did it myself, but again, isn’t that *******? Art is not only limited to the creation aspect, the classes and the kids with purple hair. It is music. It’s the group of people in the hallway singing their hearts out about a home near and dear to them. It’s the girls in the bathroom fixing their make-up, thinking that is all that matters. It’s the boys in the playground, talking about life and busting on each other. It’s the kids who come home crying because they had an anxiety attack in the middle of English class and the teacher told them to leave because they were causing a distraction. The kids walking into class, who have their headphones blaring because music makes more sense than what the teacher has on the board. If home is where the heart is then my home is any place on earth. If you tell someone that art saved you, and they ask how, just tell them that ignorance is bliss and the fact that they don’t understand says more about their life than you explaining it to them ever will.