or something along those lines.
I suddenly feel as if the world that I had been working for and in and around, came shattering down like a cascade of ice particles playing in the wind. Maybe I wasn't supposed to be in art school. Now, here, at the end of a beginning, or a beginning of an end, I find myself being geared in a direction that has the visual world a secondary thing. My emotions are reeling all over the place and I want to focus more on my writing aspect than anything else. I wonder if that is selfish of me at all.
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