Bloodroses' Bouquet

Who am I? What am I? Do I belong? Do I exist? Who is he? or she? Will I ever become as great as them? Will I ever do any good to both men and women?  Who are we?  We often ask ourselves that one question, a question about our existence, our value as a human being, and our worth to others. it is not an uncommon situation for so many people out there. Some people are trying to find an answer while others may not and keep asking it to themselves, expecting that an answer will be bestowed upon them out of nowhere, while in reality, they are only going to make an endless list of unanswered questions (as I have) So who exactly are we? This, i believe, is a question even a long paragaraph cannot answer. But of course, with every question, there is an answer over there somewhere. It is our task to find it. I remember someone said this somewhere: "We are who we choose to be," and I really like to believe that it's true. I overheard my teacher once, and I remember he said something...

 Let's just put it like this:  all the visual beauty that one can perceive is all stored in just the tip of a pen, same goes for literature. Your mind and your soul resonate and connects with it. "What a privilege to have such thing," I thought to myself. While much of its beauty may depend on those who wield or have the compound and materials, it still doesn't justify what value it can possess.  somebody once said "Insanity is doing the exact same thing over and over again and expecting different results" if we tend to put it that way, does resketching our sketches to make them a better sketches count as insanity? Yes and no. There are many who would agree, but there are many who would not. I could be wrong in this case.  What I do is create visual art as a temporary escape from reality. But still, even in the depths of it, I still herald danger. It's something that I can not escape from no matter where I go. Many have given themselves up, but I stood s...