Isolation

I look around at the people I hold dear, all mapped out, and I feel fear. They all have futures, bright and studious, and I'm left behind, feeling new to this. They sit and gossip about their goals, then ask me, but I don't know. "I just want to write," I say, feeling like a child, while they stare at me like some beast in the wild. "Well, what do you like to write?" "I don't know, just anything that feels... right." They move on, leaving me in isolation, and I pick up my pencil, my own consolation. I ease my way into my dreams, because maybe the future not dark as it seems.