You are lost in limbo. Stuck between gradeschool scribbles and real art. You never had talent, nor are you going to get formal fine arts education; not as long as your parents are alive.

Your skills are insufficient in your eyes, you never feel accomplished. You take a glance at other people's work and feel weak.

So what do you do?

You draw anyway. You draw because you want to. It is your lifeblood for going on in life, and your own way of meeting and greeting people in a special way.

But with every cute drawing, you wonder-- do you squander it? Do you take it for granted? You therefore try to be awesome, create avatars of professionalism-- personified by doctors, archmages, snipers, assassins and the like.

You create one for yourself, and call it your image.

Yet you realize, you are still lost. You draw again. Trapped in your own vicious circle.

One day, you meet someone, and draw for her, because that's how you say 'Hello.' Her day gets better. She goes on a period of snuggly happiness. It just happens that she's a friend of a friend-- Your friend asks if you have MSN, because she wanted to thank you some more. Out of curiousity, you do get MSN. She pounces, and a long period of hugging, scritching ensues.

Eventually you talk to her about such things as her reasons to draw.

You stop and realize. That even if you did know that it's not all in the pageviews and the comments and the favourites and the fame and the glory -- You've been hunting that down all this while, unconsciously. You are an intellectual hypocrite and you know it.

So you wonder, did you help her? Or did she help you? How ironic. So you finally came to your senses. You say-- screw all.

You draw, because you want to, because it makes people happy. That is your story, and you're sticking with it. And you don't believe in happily ever after.