Some days the desire to create burns like zinc in my soul. It burns so hot and bright. It is almost blinding. But just like that fire of zinc, it is quickly consumed. There are so many ideas that circulate with in my mind, that grasping onto one and wrangling it into something coherent feels nigh impossible. Yet, I try. But I do not try often enough.
Writing is a passion of mine. I think I have ideas that are worth sharing with the world. I like the storytelling aspect of stringing these words together. I like to paint the images that are in my mind, with the words that come out of my fingertips. Upon occasion, I will even paint those images via the spoken word. But I do not do this often enough.
Creating in some way soothes my soul. I have a talent for it, whether it is creating art through music or by writing. The more I practice either of these skills the better I become. When I create on a regular basis, I feel better. But I do not make the effort often enough.
Often enough, two simple words that carry heavy meaning. I need to take the time to do these things, so I cannot say that I did not make the effort.