When I was little—two, maybe four—

I drew to music, and the world lifted,

Floating inches above the ground, weightless, free.

In that hush of color and sound, I knew.

I whispered to myself, this is it.

This is what I will do, what I must do—forever.

I never wavered.

The world tugged, bent me at times,

But I held firm against its temptations.

Deep inside, I carried a knowing—

A quiet certainty, a map written in stars.

All I wanted was happiness,

And I found it in a world of my own making.

Imagination became my refuge, my home.

When the outside world clawed at me,

Its ugliness demanding my attention,

I answered briefly—

Then fled back into the moonlight.

Other artists understand this place,

The world behind the veil,

Where creation is truth and truth is safe.

Beyond that, I only ask for the quiet,

The security to stay where dreams bloom,

Where reality bends to my hand,

Where the past can be played back

Not as it was—

But as it should have been.