i have never been one that works well with words. though in my soul there is beauty beyond imagination, i lack the ability to set it free as it was meant to be. i know that somewhere in me, something is yearning to break free and shout out to the world. there's a love story, a heroic tale, and a grand adventure. as i lay awake each night i can see these things, like a briliant light shining through the darkness. if i only had the ability to share it with others. whether i am afraid, or simply too inarticulate, something is holding me back from allowing these thoughts to flow onto the paper in a tale worth reading. who knows who i could inspire? all i know is that the older i get, the dimmer the light grows. my vocabulary may be expanding, but my enthusiasm seems to be drifting away. maybe stories such as mine were meant for the young, the innocent. as life opens up to me and i see how things trully are, such dreams of mine seem foolish. maybe there is no room in this cruel world for a dreamer like me. but there must be more, i can't seem to find them, but they should be there. or am i just rambling? do i see what's not there? is this great idea of mine, not as great as i dreamt it to be? or has my inability to explain myself finally caught up with me causing me to doubt the beauty within?
ferretlover Community Member 
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