"Who am I? Surely, you know of me, yet I must wonder if you know me? Perhaps our paths have crossed, however briefly, though in a manner as to garner some significance. Or perhaps we were indeed well acquainted in a time long since past and a place long since left to the chains of memory.
Does it matter? Is there meaning, value in pleasantries spoken at arm’s length? And I would be remiss if I did not ask this of myself, but is it my doing that the span between your words and mine are far greater than they ever need be?
In a wondrous age where the other side of the world is as easy to reach as it is to take in the summer wind, how is it that more often than not, I do nothing more than cry out into the spaces in between…and hope that through the miasma of shouts and whispers, you should hear my voice alone?
Even this! Even this is yet another seemingly hollow effort to make my voice heard above all others and yet how quickly shall it fall to the wayside?
All of it seems to lie in the immediacy of distraction. Life gets in the way of living, as they say. And in the end, does the string still not require two cans for its voice to be heard, no matter the length?"