Used to Write

I used to write to you as if you cared, as if someone was out there reading, as if there was a chance that you might share, but what is shared? Does sharing happen when one is alone, when one has no responses, no communications? Maybe you are reading silently for all these years, maybe these words matter to you, maybe they are even important to you. Maybe you just don't ant to interaction, for your own reasons, maybe you just don't want to acknowledge we share here. If that's the case, it leaves me wondering, for only you know that sharing is happening. For me, there is just the possibility of sharing happening, the hope that sharing is happening, somehow, some way, some where.

I used to write with more certainty in my hope, with a stronger belief that sharing was happening, that you were out there reading. Now there is much more hope than belief. Now there is much more wondering than believing. Now, sometimes, there is even doubt that sharing is happening.

Still, I write. Perhaps not with the same tone or messages I used to write, but still, I write. Hope remains, even in a swirl of wonder tinged with doubt, hope remains.

There's always hope (I hope).

Narf :)