The love of making art. Hannah had always known of her more profound connection with the creative form. Her hands were her most vital asset, her mind only to follow after. Art became second nature. It was her purpose- her driving factor to live. She wasn’t brain clever nor quick-witted. Hannah wasn’t model-perfect and not the most elegant. However, she could create something that made people stop and stare. This physical entity created by her made people feel and empathize. She connected strangers with herself, and that, to her, made it worth the pain. She reflected her innermost thoughts through her work—a piece of her heart and soul in each piece. Deep down in her heart, she knows this is her calling and will forever be. Yet, this was also her greatest weakness. The sweet melancholy of creation she likes to call it. The fear of judgment and question. The background noise gets louder with each paint stroke. The insecurity in both herself and her work. This demon resides in her soul and her love for the craft. Hannah grew up with constant critics murmuring between her two ears. Once, she cried over her work. Tears and oil paint dripped onto her garage floor as she sat there, letting that demon puppet her heart and eat it up. The doubt and the fear of being unworthy always sits near with every ambitious idea. Every creative outburst has this hesitation. So why? Against it all, why does Hannah do this? Does she have a choice? Does her love for creating blind her? Does she truly believe in herself? Or is it because there is no other option in this game of life? Even though she couldn’t answer, she continues to create anyways.