Sometimes I wonder if I am as completely alone as I feel. I feel like a borrower, Two inches tall and hardly worth noticing. I could scream and scream as loud as my little voice could carry and not disturb a living creature. I want so bad to be one bright star in the vastness of the Universe. To be so much greater than my circumstances allow, then I actually am. I’ve read everything on exploring the vastness of self and discovering who you are. Every article, every book, every quote meant to inspire. They’re all the same: “Live, learn, create, discover, explore.” It must be nice for anyone with means, but I am left to all my great exploring in books. I eat them up, hoping against hope that somewhere in their pages is the once sentence or word or moment that will hit me like a ton of bricks and everything will be different.
And yet, among my still quiet, there is a tiny voice inside of me that will not be still. A desire that stirs and will not leave me content. It will not let me live. It creeps up from the cockles of my sad heart and steals all the air away. It lies to me, whispering sweet sounding things in my ear at night. “You are meant for greatness.” “You are different.” “You can help so many.” “Your voice must be heard.” But what am I to do? I am small and meek, my voice shakes. What could I possibly do? Who am I possibly meant to be?