There lived an artist.
She grew up in a world of her own, and while other children spent their time playing and watching television, she could be found drawing and daydreaming, or reading fantastical tales about mythical lands.
"You're like a blankety-blank butterfly!" her father, the king would shout in exasperation.
She took it as a compliment. ;)
For she was the only butterfly in a family of worker bees. She was different. She was colorful. She could make magic happen with her pencils and paintbrushes.
The worker bees went on to achieve great things in a land called Business. They lived comfortable lives, in beautiful homes, filled with expensive things, and shook their heads at the artist-butterfly, not understanding at all how she could live such a precarious life, flitting from one place to the next, one creation to the next, her spirit free but her future uncertain.
And to tell you a little secret, sometimes the artist would wonder herself about the path she'd taken. Times when she struggled. Times when she wished things were easier.
Then, she would pick up her pencils and paintbrushes. And it was like magic. It was the closest thing to Sacred she'd ever felt, almost like a prayer.
And she wished everyone could feel like this. :)
~ The End ~