To Write

It is strange to me, an outsider of the world I perceive, to walk among unfamiliar territory. If it is believed that a thought motivates action, then I am certainly oblivious to the actions my mind evokes, for the world continues on due course, blindly, as if I do not exist or, at least, my thoughts do not. If I conceed that my contribution is so small as to be disregarded by my neighbors, then I would be forlorn and discouraged to remain a writer; however, if hope retains its energy within me, that a voice can be heard, no matter of the lowest depths from which it sounds off, then the importance of the words written by my hand must prevail.