Today I finished a book called THE HELP. As I came closer and closer to the end of the book I became more and more anxious because I knew it was going to end. The characters I had discovered and learned to love, or not love so much, would soon be a memory of my imagination.
However, the lessons those characters learned and by extension, I learned, are still rolling around in my head and in my heart. Ideas and thoughts and feelings have reminded me of values and ideals I value and cherish and want to embody.
How could reading or writing or painting or composing ever be a waste of time? How could I ever think creating does not have a point.
Creating IS the point.