Am I talking to myself, or is anyone reading this?
I feel like a captive in my life.
Having a rough day.
Wondering why, if I perceive myself as a writer, I am not writing and getting paid for it.
What matters what I write, if no one reads it?
If a writer writes and no one is there to read it, does it even amount to words on a page? Like the tree in the forest whose sound we question, if it falls when no one is around?
I’ve always believed that the falling tree generated vibration/sound waves and that yes, even if no one heard it, it made screams of despair, hopelessness and surprise.
Kind of like me. Except I do it with words.