Sky

I often find myself staring up at the sky, or pondering the sight of the moon. It’s vastness consumes my thoughts and twists them into doubtful conclusions. I am simply nothing more than a speck on this chanced up rock. My ability to breath, move and have a presence is all from a coincidence that I must thank something called the Big Bang for. I have no meaning, no purpose, or place. This all drifts through my mind like a complicated honey mixture: thick and slow. Why should I continue on this winding road that will never have a peaceful end, for the beginning was never peaceful. It was just there. If I could just nestle myself in a state of oblivion, then these issues would all be solved. But I can tell, oblivion will never find me, not when I’m still conscious of this world I am a part of. My sole option is to stop staring at the sky, and to stop pondering these hindering thoughts.

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My Dream

I’m an aspiring author along with millions of others on this planet. I’ve only been writing for just over two-and-a-half years, and my dream was always to someday publish a book. However, over the past few months, I’ve come to the conclusion that my dream isn’t necessarily to have a book published, but it’s for people to want to read my writing. I don’t want them to read it because it’s their job, such as a teacher, and they’re getting paid. I don’t want them to read it because they’re my family or friends and feel as if they have to. Someday I dream that I’ll have readers who read what I write simply because they want to. I am aware that my writing isn’t there yet, but someday I hope it will be. That’s my dream for the future.