and I remember waiting to hear a call back.
Messages of are you there? and is anyone listening? echo through empty tunnels.
Now I shout into the void and hear a far out call back–you’d think wasn’t human.
You’d think there was someone out there. And maybe there is.
I see the shadows circle around a post or two then carry on with whatever it is they were doing before.
I see this day now and the light falls inside the room and my Love lays beside me and I hear nothing but the faint hum of the room heater.
Man, it’s getting cold.
It’s cold and I think of writing and reading and maybe one day I’ll be published or maybe I won’t but I wonder it all anyways even the day I may bring myself to write.
It’s a Monday and I almost let this moment slip past me.
Maybe one day God will let it in. And say, here you go; be a writer. And I’ll have the tools and the editor and the inspiration and everything.
And days will pass and it will be nice.
I’ll sit and write something bigger than this and know what to say and not have a moment of doubt about it.
I laugh at this as well as any other writer.
So instead I watch these movies where they’re all great writers and have the same problems as any other one and we talk about the same things and I can’t seem to relate with another and that’s how it’ll be.
And one day I may be published and maybe I won’t.
I think I may have to write something first for that one.