The art where you look confused but so clear in your strokes that no one understand its complexities.
The art in which you hide grief and appear vibrant than ever.
The art which hold stories so old enough to become obsolete, but you will display them in your living room with so much pride that it becomes antique.
The art which seems so full that you can easily follow the broken links.
The art that comes so naturally and takes all from you so quickly and smoothly that you hate doing it all over again.