In my head i picture myself a great author, a grand one, famous even, ever so loved
But reality strikes a different view
It is hard to be a famous author when you don’t write anything
It’s almost like words cannot fail you if you indeed are an author of note
So where are my words?
Have they graced a page and crossed into another’s mind?
I am a famous author with an audience of one, perhaps two if the eyes reading this aren’t the very ones in the head of the body with the hands that wrote this.
Though if i am honest with myself i actually don’t wish to be a famous author
But i would settle for having written something of note
Where someone other than myself thinks it a meaningful contribution to the world, the time, a place, a thing
Simply i just wish to write.
To put words to page
To have those words be thoughtful ones, meaningful ones, lasting ones that resonate with someone else somewhere else sometime else
Perhaps this can be made to a reality
If only there was a way to make it so
Perhaps i should write this down.
