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It's amazing, this thing called an imagination. No other creature on the planet has it. Some people don't even have it. I'm blessed with a fertile, or what some would call 'over-active' mind's eye. I think too much, I over-analize nearly every situation, I drive people crazy with the way I think. I talk too much, sometimes I write the stupidest things you've ever thought in your entire life on paper, and call it my work.

But, frankly, I think I would be lost without my imagination. I loose sleep, I think so much I give myself headaches, I rant and rave about it, but I don't believe I'd be me without it.

This torrent of thoughts, images, words, ideas that are continuously pummeling me in a never-ending stream of creativity; it's what makes me feel truly alive. I feel, through my writing, that I can give people a window into my world. Now, my world certainly isn't perfect. Sometimes it's downright scary. But I do still see the good in things, and I know a lot of people don't. I've realized that so few people can truly see the beautiful things that are left in this wasteland we call earth, our home. So many have lost faith in all humanity. I myself don't have much hope for our race.

So much remains that is wicked, dark and horrible. So much hatred, so much distrust and destruction. We are destroying ourselves, this I understand. But under all of that, I cling desperately to the pretty little things that are still left. I find love in the strangest places, beauty where you would never expect to find it. And when I write it all down in those cunning and colorful words I've learned to use, I can let others witness it too. Even if you don't believe there is any good left on this wreched planet, for a second I can capture your mind and make you see what I see. For even a single second. And that second I can give is worth all the writer's callouses, headaches and nights of insomnia in all of eternity.

If I can bring just a little light, just the slightest glimmer into someone's life for just a moment, and be remembered for it, I can die happy. That's why I continue to slave away at this keyboard, or at my notebook. That's why I end up all covered in graphite smears, wearing a big grin when I'm finally done with a thought that took me hours just to spell out. And I'll never stop. I can't. Not until I can no longer use my fingers. And even then, I might find a way.

I know that I may never spread anything I create through this world. I know that I may just end up another book on the Walmart shelf that no one ever touches. But I'm willing to spend my life, all my passions, taking that risk. I'm willing to give it all up for what I believe in. Because the world I see, rose-colored glasses or no, is something so beautiful, I can't stand not to share it. To hold it all in would be to die.

I will continue, even if I end up another starving artist, and I will write what I love, what I see, what I believe, until the day my pen slips out of my hand, and I breathe no more.

Learn more about this author, Cassandra Nicolussi.
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