A Parallel Universe

The art of excelling in a particular genre of life took it's first steps when I was taught that we live in this world which is one of a kind. I didn't get to choose the way I live and thereby, was forced upon the same. The immature mind didn't allow me to raise hands and I went with the flow like a dead fish. Writing became a place of my own and in order to make people aware of my existence, I made it public. It did reach everyone but I was not the first one. I was no magician. I had my own place borrowed from this world and I had to do everything to make people aware of that place. My writings blurted out the address of my place but there was no one to listen. Everyone was confined to their own dark spaces.

The lust of being heard guided me to a place where I learned that even words had souls and in order to connect with these souls, I had to experience life.
With life, I had the freedom to choose. This made me have my own world around which I built huge walls to protect my heart from breaking because that was the only thing which I could call my own.

Now, I had two worlds to live in and one always contradicted other. The only solution to connect the two worlds was by being an artist, someone skillful enough to impact the present world by making a mark on their own world. This gained me fame. Everyone started whispering about my writings and I was officially an artist. The attention was good but the solace I used to quench in my own world faded. My walls came down and I became vulnerable. Everyone knew who I was and I got lost in the crowd again.

The vulnerability costed me my heart and my world became dark. My writings became intense and the pleasure following it took me to a parallel universe. I found utter solace and black became my monochrome.

Ever since then, I see everyone clap their hands on my life wrecks and applaud the writings that signify it. I painted their worlds with words and they called me an artist in return.

So when someone asks me what it is to be an artist, I look at them and tell them the story I had starred in. After all, the only thing I wanted was people to know the address of my place.