You write prose once and then it's done.
You write a song and you can sing it over and over forever; each time it's different and new.
Why doesn't everyone just sing?
Why do I know how to write sentences, but I don't know how to compose verse?
I think I quite grandly screwed up when I was learning my particular skill set.
My brother went to school and became an artist. I went to school and learned to be an architect of bits. When we were young, we both liked computers, we both liked to draw. As he became a teenager, the drawing won out; for me, well, you can guess. Could it have gone the other way? I think it could. It has a lot to do with our upbringing.
It's late, and I can't articulate the differences between my brother and me. I spend a lot of time thinking about it, though. Sometimes I wish I were more like him; I wonder if he ever thinks that about me.
Together we're formidable. With our father, we're unstoppable. With our mother, we're solid as a mountain.
I suppose that makes me lucky.
No comments:
Post a Comment