I bear my soul to you.
You strangers of the world.
I don’t know your names.
You don’t know mine.
We share a connection.
A connection of words on a page.
A connection between space and time.
I walk past you in the street and do not know your face.
And yet, here I am.
Here you are.
I release my soul to you one word at a time.
I fearlessly allow you to see my flaws.
I share with you things I do not share with others.
You see through me.
You see into the corners I try to hide from the world around me.
You support me when I’m too afraid to let those close to me do so.
I don’t give them a chance.
They are not like you.
They are too close to home.
They are too easily looked in the eye.
Fear of the disappointment that may be seen there is too much.
It’s too much to release my soul to them.
To be recognized for my writing is my dream.
But to be recognized for my writing is my fear.
To be noted as a great writer is what my heart longs for.
To be noted as a terrible writer is what would break my heart.
The chance to improve is all I ask.
Help me improve, oh strangers of the world.
Teach me what I lack.
Teach me what I have.
Be my support.
Help me escape my fear.