When I die I want to find whoever painted my eyes.

And I want to ask them all my questions.

How did you choose the colors?

Were you confident? Or, did you wonder if it would all turn out alright? Were you afraid, with your brush in your hand, that you’d mess it up?

Did you mess it up?

Because… sometimes I feel so messed up that I can’t even tell which way to go…

And I don’t understand how this life which was given to me isn’t too much for just one person to own.

How is it that I can feel truth of my desires but when I dream so big and my dream falls at my feet again I feel so low that I want to stop dreaming all together.

Is it worth it to continue on when I don’t get It?

What is coming?

What do I have up my sleeve? How can I not know?