Is there anybody out there?
I thought about that line for a while before I actually typed it in. I'm new to blogging, and, forgive me if I'm wrong, but I wonder: is there really anybody who's going to read this? Is there really anybody out there? I would love to think that there was a place that I could vent, and maybe someone out there would listen--would comment. Maybe there's someone out there. Not someone that would obsess over my life and become more of a problem than a compliment, but someone who might occasionally say, "I get it." or "You're not crazy."
I'm almost talking myself out of going on, while simultaneously going on. I'm just one more star in the sky. One more beginning. One more outlet. One more first breath. One Awakening. But if that's all I am or can be, then so be it. I guess there isn't much point in giving up something just because I don't think I'll get attention for it. Now listen to yourself, Vimes. You almost sound as if you want to go on.
It's not that I have anything particularly notable to say, it's just that something about writing calls to me. I can't buy notebooks because there's something about a blank page that just pleads with me. There are so many possiblilities. There are so many beautiful ideas to be written down, imagined, that it brings tears to my eyes. It's got to get out. It's beautiful, and it's trapped, and now it's screaming; I must let it out. So, I cry as my pen bleeds the words straight from my heart to my page, and the tears drip down my nose to land on the page. Waiting. Burning with inspiration. And It's ruined. Tear-stained, unreadable, on to the next page. What a vicious cycle.
Is there anyone that needs it? Any heart out there that bleeds for it? Is there anybody out there?
