Monday, August 18, 2014

my flickering flame

I'm not a writer; I'm just someone with a voice.

Trust me, I have no idea what I am doing. I feel foolish. I do not write often enough, long enough, or well enough to qualify. I barely edit; I have never stuck with a piece by whittling it away and molding it into a nearly new creation with edits and dedication. I feel inadequate. I don't just feel it, I believe it.

How do I dare to dream of reaching others with my words? Where did this dream come from, and where could it possibly go? The audacity. Silly of me. My major is a fluffy, ridiculous dream that will take me no where practical. I'm not even sure if this is right for me. But I don't know what else to choose, what else would maybe fit. Doubts assail. And these doubts may be completely valid. Maybe I should listen to them.

My voice is small.

Then, there are moments where I feel a blossoming confidence in this gift I've been given. An arising flame, bursting to life. Maybe this is right after all.

Just maybe.

This dance continues, day by day. I wonder if the flame will survive.


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