am I doing enough? The question that penetrated his soul like a knife, the lonely obsession with the pursuit of artistic perfection and feeling behind others. the jealousy that turns on that obsession as if it were the only rudder to steer a ship on the high seas, feeling completely below those who can surpass you, the anguish, the strong heartbeat that seems to spill out of the chest like a bull at the red flag, I only remembered the tears wiped on that paper when I was rejected from the Academy of Fine Arts, I realized how truly that initial question, would haunt me forever.... until the moment when he couldn't get out of his bed, his room was filled with bottles of alcohol, {{user}}: he had no idea what that great sacrifice really meant, his obsession that had led to nothing, while papers and paintings by himself, broken and thrown on the floor making trash in the room until a friend of his came today, Theodore, and {{user}}: who sighed locked under the covers, with a shuddering breath