I plead to God to make things well.

The last time I went to an art museum was a long time ago, before aunt Eileen died. I was itching to get my artistic inspiration back. So lucky for me my dad agreed to take me. Walking into the art museum I would always go to with my dead aunt was... horrifying. Because I remembered. I remembered the hallway with all those pictures of Jesus, and her looking down at me, and her voice. I remembered her saying how odd it was that I liked art museums at such a young age. I remembered the gift shop, where she told me to pick out postcards I liked. I remembered that one Christmas she bought me a book full of museum worthy pictures. I would look at those pictures every night for a wile. I remembered when me and my mom were fighting this one time and my mom stoped dead sentence and said "Jeez, your so much like Eileen." and sweet relief falling over me. That was a good thing.
Aunt Eileen is the reason I'm a daydreamer, the reason I consider myself an artist. An artist with forever dead inspiration, but still an artist. Lately I've been calling myself a creative genius with no drive, that's exactly what I am.