It seems that words change much like their owners, bending and twisting into shapes nothing like their former selves. Is it not the duty of the artist to notice and apply change? To go back and edit, to add light in the darkest of spaces and breath in the most suffocating of chests?
Though we lack the power to change already lived days and the divinity that it takes to resuscitate dead moons and cold tides, words never become stiff. The veins of words never stop the moving blood and the heartbeat never becomes so intermittent that it can never pulse again.
It is the gift of the creative mind to keep creating, to keep editing the art to allow it measure in someone's life. What we have created yesterday may not apply to the child born tomorrow and our talent does not lie in pleasing the past but rather in accommodating the future. Who are we if we stay the same? Who can they be if we do not show them their power to change?
Though editing is tedious and feels somewhat like cheating, who are we as artists if we do not demand the art to evolve like its subjects? It is because their evolution is so precious and so beautiful, that it must be memorialized each time by the blank space where artists live. Change in humans is inevitable but it is truly divine to take note of such.
Edit, if not for yourself, for the people who are in constant vigor of having been edited.
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