After all is said and done, we were the ones who made the choices. We decided what world we lived in, what we did in that world, and what kind of person we became. Even if the world was run by rules, we chose to follow or break them. Dreamers had the most freedom of all. Even the laws of gravity couldnât keep their feet on the ground and their heads out of the clouds. The singers, the writers, the inventors, and everyone in between. They were the artists. The creators of their own world. A limit was just a meaningless word. A word used by people who were too stubborn to understand that there was more than one way to go about life. Existence was only as boring as they wanted it to be. A painter could take hours mixing colors until they achieved that perfect shade of blue to represent the sky as they saw it. Their world was something that was hung in museums for all to see, and people would watch in awe as they peered through the eyes of another human. There were people who would scoff at these great masterpieces though, but that was only because they could never understand them. To them, the world was black and white. No amount of time spent creating, covering, mixing, and starting over would make a difference to those people. That painting would never be more than a waste of time. But the people who saw the complexity within that work of art appreciated all of the time and effort that went into it. They wanted to see what other people saw. A composer could take simple noises and manage to create an entire symphony. They would always carry a song in their heart, and that song could only be unlocked by spending hours writing, imagining, listening, and overcoming all of the obstacles that presented themselves. They put their entire existence into their work, only to be judged by people who donât understand what it took to âthrow togetherâ a little tune. The music that lasted throughout years, and could still be heard and recognized. Some wanted to be remembered, some wanted to share their visions, but all loved seeing people enjoy their hard work. Those who dismissed them as useless noise were quickly dismissed themselves. They werenât the ones that the music was made for; it was meant for those who would dance along. A writer took pleasure in sculpting entire universes with just their words. Arranging them in new ways, trying to put together a new idea. They created exciting places where others would often visit. They would open doors to extraordinary lands, fun experiences, and colorful people. People would gather around and discuss their views on the same subject, bringing them closer. Writers connected people. But doing this was no easy task. Depression, stress, writerâs block. All dangerous to any writer, but the best ones were able to overcome these. They wanted to watch as they formed communities around their own imagination. Fans gathering and meeting people they never would have without that writerâs help. Many other people did similar things. All creating, living, experiencing, and sharing. After the world ends, these are the people who did the most with their lives. They did the things they loved, but they also did things that helped others too. Singers, dancers, sculptors, designers, comedians, actors, and every other person who poured themselves into making something. They are the artists, and they made the world a place worth living. So, if there is something that needs to be made, make it. If there is something that needs to be expressed, express it with pride. Leave a mark on this world while there is still a chance. That chance won't last forever. Everything is going to end one day, so reach out now.