These are manuel's notes on The Artist by Old Gray.

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If something in the past can teach me, I’ll look back to find it. I swear I’ll feel brave someday, just not yet.

My heart stopped.

I’ve been cutting ties with emotion, I’ve been trying to get by without devotion. I didn't want to feel or smile or, better yet, didn't want to have to learn to feel things again.

What can I leave behind that will never fade? Where can I place my pride? Where will I find something that feels sincere? For every dream that I’m still trying to fill, I’ve had to let go of countless more. How do I know which ones to keep? How do I know if it’s not too late? Why now? I used to dream of being an artist; the world needed paint as bright as my visions. But love never shows it’s true colors – the world reflected black so I painted myself.