Exit through the gift shop

It’s a problem I face, time and time again. I hold images in my head, ones that I want to share with the world. But, my words fail me. Picture a museum. Would you rather walk around and take in the colors, or read descriptions off a piece of paper? I don’t remember Degas or Warhol ever painting black letters, no, that is for me. I try my best to put you there in my shoes, I just don’t feel like it’s the same. Perhaps you disagree with me, and perchance you see things better than I do. I could sit here all day and type out excuses, multiple forms of self-derogatory text, or ramble about how I’m not good enough. What’s the point though, when you all say that you like it. I enjoy writing, and you enjoy reading what I write. I guess for now, the problem is solved. Next time, I’ll remember to draw a bench for you at the end of each paragraph.