sometimes i wonder if what i do,
say,
think,
hope,
scream,
draw,
imagine,
dream,
sculpt,
enact,
and
write is original.
chances are it's not. nothing is really original. and while sometimes that thought might be crushing and depressing, equally as often it is a comfort to know that with more than six billion people on
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I would most likely be giving off colorful sunbursts every now and again. Otherwise my colors would be muted and soothing. Especially if I was reading or cross stitching. I feel most peaceful then.
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