Even if you're exhausted and can't put one word in front of the other, you plot out that new story idea.
Not because you have nothing to say, but because you know you have a story to tell.
Even if you think you couldn't write a grocery list, you keep writing.
Not because words have failed you, but because you know they won't.
Even if you think your efforts are pointless, you put down the cookie.
Not because you gave up, but because you've succeeded already and this is just a stall, not the end of your success.
Even if you don't hear a word, you hold on to hope that someone is listening.
Not because you believe your words are lost in a black hole, but because someone is thinking about what you've said.
Even if you feel sick, you choose not to wallow in your suffering.
Not because "there are people worse off than you", but because wallowing is selfish and immature and pointless.
Even if you're scared this is all a ruse, you keep believing in yourself.
Not because you're deluded, but because you know that any moment the curtains will open and the lights will dim, and then, the stage is all yours.