A monologue I wrote for Drama

Every time I reach out there is this loneliness, emptiness, that can’t even be really described. When I reach out I only have my thoughts, a shadow of me. I walk around these halls and see people, but they all are so different, I don’t know their names or even their faces really, but I see them. Most seem bright, and they run around a lot and have all these friends. But yet here’s me again, sitting alone in a library, with tons of books carrying tons of history, With tons of people writing, scribbling their thoughts away. And some people’s thoughts make history. And that’s just amazing. The fact that something that was originally only in your head where no one else can hear it, now millions of people read it everyday, and analyze and stare at. For example, F. Scott Fitzgerald, the writer of “The Great Gatsby,” what thought to be a low life, an alcoholic, now is seen as one of the greatest authors of all time. He struggled all his life and eventually died before he could truly see how great he was. I hope that one day, someone will see what I create everyday, and will analyze it, and love it, because I could never love it but maybe someone else will. The crazy thing is, right now, I’m talking in my head, and hopefully someone will hear it.