Sometimes all I need
is time to dream by the lamplight
To sigh at a witch’s hour
Sit back in my chair
and cry to myself
for how grateful I am
that my art exists
And that even if I am the only one to ever enjoy it
even if my dreams die
and the time runs out
and people get up and leave my theatre
before my show starts
that I have loved myself enough
to make what was not there
before
“Remember that you were art long before he came to admire you, and you’ll continue to be art even when he’s gone. A masterpiece is still a masterpiece when the lights are off, and the room is empty.”
— Charlotte Beier
Tomas Tranströmer, tr. by Robert Bly, from a poem titled “Track,”
[ Text ID: It is like a prayer to what is empty. And what is empty turns its face to us and whispers: “I am not empty, I am open.” ]
(via beautifulachingsoul)














