dreams
Writing, to me, had always been this mystical power - a magical force that would evolve and express itself through me by an inborn genetic code that made me special, and I would one day be whisked away to a place of creativity, fulfillment, fame.
And so I climbed the stage for the magic show of life, my wand a pen and paper. I readied myself to channel the great creative destiny that was mine - for the joy of the masses - and the satisfaction of my own pathetic dreams. As the curtains raised on adulthood, I smiled, having no doubts, opened my mouth to read the message I had so brilliantly translated from the universe to the world, but no sound came.
The silence wore on and the stage lights bore hot sweaty holes into my scalp. The audience began shifting in their seats. Chuckles rippled through. Still, I had nothing.
Looking through the impatient seats, I saw actors awaiting their lines, musicians lacking lyrics, dreamers longing for fairy tales. I threw myself to the floor, attacked the paper with my pen, willing myself to create, to be worthwhile. But I could not. I was empty.
I am empty.
I suppose it's time for me to step down, and leave the stage for the true storytellers of the world. I just want to sit and rest my legs. Hoping to become something in the face of nothing is exhausting business.
Sometimes dreams don't come true and faith falters, even fails.
But that's ok. I'll just sit here in the audience for a while.
And so I climbed the stage for the magic show of life, my wand a pen and paper. I readied myself to channel the great creative destiny that was mine - for the joy of the masses - and the satisfaction of my own pathetic dreams. As the curtains raised on adulthood, I smiled, having no doubts, opened my mouth to read the message I had so brilliantly translated from the universe to the world, but no sound came.
The silence wore on and the stage lights bore hot sweaty holes into my scalp. The audience began shifting in their seats. Chuckles rippled through. Still, I had nothing.
Looking through the impatient seats, I saw actors awaiting their lines, musicians lacking lyrics, dreamers longing for fairy tales. I threw myself to the floor, attacked the paper with my pen, willing myself to create, to be worthwhile. But I could not. I was empty.
I am empty.
I suppose it's time for me to step down, and leave the stage for the true storytellers of the world. I just want to sit and rest my legs. Hoping to become something in the face of nothing is exhausting business.
Sometimes dreams don't come true and faith falters, even fails.
But that's ok. I'll just sit here in the audience for a while.