Alive

Appreciate art and the provider. Understand. Dreams become imaginable, felt, dreamt, painted, and written into a form of reality. It’s spread for others to see, hear, and feel. I remember my whole life was based on painting, writing, and dreaming about my life leaving my version of hell. I cried. I cried. I even cried when I finally left. There is no feeling that can ever top the moment of me driving over the mountains to a place I have considered home and the beginning of my life. I’ve dreamt to be on my own since I was 9. I used to plan many ways to runaway with my older sister every time we visited the bay. I tried To convince my mom in every way to leave. But she never could, we never could. It wasn’t practical. Until I turned 18. And now I’m here. Away, from the home that has more bad memories then good. Away from the people that has only brought me heartache than warm love. I’m no longer running or racing with time. Drinking, fondling with disrespectful guys, smoking, or any other bad habits. I’m finally alive. And nothing is more rewarding than this feeling.