A teasure lost - Hopeless me.

Some strokes on a paper and I call it a sketch.
Pat my own back to say - I'm an artist;
As long as there are people around me to say - wow Ramya that's a good one!
The few scribblings I had - were my treasure.
In my own ways - I could see a gradual transition.
From pathetic to alright.
I could call myself an artist too, till those were with me.
But now they are not - I don't have a proof.

The long hours I put into them,
The appreciations I got - after my own efforts of flaunting though,
The sense of an accomplishment after completing one - I used to end up with a back pain though,
The significance associated with each piece,
All those memories lost!
And the reason - Careless me!

Some things are too precious.
I had to loose to realize.
I can't get out of my guilt and pain even after enough self reproach.
Please will someone thrash me??!!