Doubt

Doubt makes life worth living. Plain and simple, doubt entices us out of bed every morning and tucks us in every night.

I write. I count myself a writer and I try to peck at the keys at some point during every day. Am I any good? Without doubt I might rest on my laurels, of which there are none. I doubt myself and my ability every fucking day. Sometimes I doubt a sentence as soon as I tack on a period or exclamation mark. This isn't negative thinking, but more a drive to be better. I'm hesitant to believe that what I thrust onto the page is any good, and that doubt pushes me to try and make it better.

Faith without doubt is a sad endeavor. Such absolution leaves no mystery in life, no true longing for that in which you've placed your faith. Doubt in my lover's devotion does not frighten me, it makes me strive harder to earn and enjoy her caress.

I was once taught to doubt that the sun will rise in the morning. Life is infinitely better with that as my thought as I drift off to sleep. For when the morning comes and the sun greets me as I wake, doubt is defeated by the gift of a new day.  But then, will it be a good day?

And the fear and doubt of a white page only succumbs after it has been filled with a string of black little letters; coherent or otherwise.