No day without a line, the Romans used to say. They certainly had no idea that being aligned with words is not enough.
Every day I keep creatively dreaming my reality into existence with nothing to back me up but this silly hope that someone might be interested enough to actually read what I write. It's a desperate kind of wishful thinking that keeps me going. So I ponder, I contemplate, I wallow, the latter mostly in self-pity, of course. It ends where all unilateral relationships do, in sorrow.
Now I was told that sorrow can be savoured as a source for creativity. That's great, for I'm so full of sorrow that I will be able to come up with even more words that won't be read.
Glad, the dog needs to go for a walk. The meadow will already be lined - with trees.