Day 18 - Hobby

I liked maths.

But I was never good enough at it.

I liked sports.

I wasn't good enough at that either.

I liked art.

I wasn't good enough.

Then I found something else, it was something I could create whole new worlds with, and that was enough. I'm still not good enough at it but it's good enough for me. I built palaces out of paragraphs where I found refuge. I build worlds out of words, and they were good enough for me for once. Even if they weren't good enough for other people, who cares?

I don't owe them anything, I write for myself. I met friends, mentors, and lovers in my stories, found homes in my creations. Even if they aren't up to other people's standards, I don't care. I found better lives in my writing than I ever did in the real world.

But if people are better than me at it, I do care.

I see the worlds they're created that outshine mine, that other people have clearly recognised to be better than mine, and part of me wants to send my world crumbling into dust because clearly that wasn't good enough.

At the end of all of it though, I don't destroy them. Would you set your home, and I don't mean house, I mean home on fire for anything? The place where you feel the safest, unconditionally loved and accepted?

People can say they're not good enough but they're my castles and BLAST IT, I do whatever the hell I want with them.