I can’t for the life of me think of what to write. I’m sitting here with my finger firmly on the backspace key, shaking my head at everything that comes out of it. The world blows by us, faster each day. Millions of sounds, thoughts, pictures, feelings, and I can’t find one to write about. Which ironically enough brings me to write this. Apologies for the cliché, but what is this? Ramblings of a mad man, and leading to what end? We read thousands of things every day; meaningless, mindless drivel, everything that will never move your soul or pluck a heartstring. I don’t want to be one of those; I will not be content with one in a million. You should come here to feel somethi-no. No. I should come here to feel something, and I do. It’s right here in front of you. You should come here to feel it with me. This right here is my biggest fear and maybe, probably my best talent. But for it to mean something, anything at all, it must truly come from within me. I came to an agreement with myself that if I did this, I was doing it. Matthew Richard Brock means something different to you than it does to me. But if I can make you feel what I feel, if I can move you just an inch, light one candle within you, then maybe we can start to see the same person. Maybe I’ll be able to smile about him more often. Maybe one day, the world will be reading this. Imagine how much more light would be in the world with so many candles…..
I love to write only because you read. If that means I fail out of the gate as a writer, so be it. But I do this to see your reaction, to see that whatever I was feeling in that moment has resonated with you. If it doesn’t, if empathy escapes you, then there was no point, and then I have truly failed as a writer. That will be the last time I ever write. Until then, enjoy the ramblings of a mad man who still can’t think of what to write. (And who can’t keep his finger from laying on that backspa