I was not afraid of making the choice that I did. Fear would not rule me, like it did, for most of my life.

There is no reason to cower in the face of something long expected. Isn't it an expectation by some point?

My eyes traced the page, as the words seemed to dance away from my eyes and bleed into the edges, like a stage meant only for me.

An audience of one, was at least interesting.

Now what did I see, as the curtain were pulled?

A spotlight dropping onto a a kid, running through the street. In his hands are some trinkets and toys he had fixed together with hands far too small and soft, but already scratched up like a well used school desk.

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He does not play by himself, and instead gives them all to the kids he protects. As they sit listlessly from the hunger, the pain, but most of all, the tiresome monotony.

He watches as their eyes light up, and he tells stories he could see through his half blind eyes. Of knights and princesses, of heroes and kings.

But most of all. He sometimes tells the stories of lives, of things a child shouldn't understand. A life of a writer typing away, knowing that he will be a failure, but satisfied with the knowledge that his own will, sharpens and maybe one more person can see the world as he does.

A story of a girl, who like to swing her legs just off the ground, to pretend like she was walking and to feel her legs moving, when she normally could not. And simply feeling at peace while singing to the wind, walking still, when they can't.

And many more, but my hand grows stiff and bloodless. As it must rest, even after this short, long period of writing.

But know that all I have said is conviction.

And even if life seems too hard. Having conviction will at least let you choose the path you walk on, to an end.