Are You There?

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.



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