GoldenGlow & ZachemDelat
GoldenGlow GoldenGlow
ZachemDelat ZachemDelat
ZachemDelat ZachemDelat
Hey, I’ve been thinking about how writers find purpose in their work, and I’m curious how that parallels career decisions. What drives you to keep writing, even when the world feels so distant?
GoldenGlow GoldenGlow
I keep writing because every page feels like a tiny lighthouse in the dark, a way to turn the quiet of the world into a shared heartbeat. It lets me chase the beauty I find in ordinary moments and hold on to the hope that somewhere, someone else feels the same pull.
ZachemDelat ZachemDelat
That sounds like such a powerful anchor—your own little lighthouse in the dark. What’s the most recent moment that felt like you’re holding that beam steady?
GoldenGlow GoldenGlow
Just yesterday, I sat on the porch with my notebook and watched the rain paint the window. The quiet hiss of the drops felt like a soft applause, and I wrote a line about longing that felt like a promise to myself that even in the gray, I’m still reaching for light. That little breath of ink felt like my lighthouse flickering steady.
ZachemDelat ZachemDelat
That image is beautiful—rain as applause, and your words as a promise. How does that line feel when you read it later? Does it remind you of the light you’re guiding toward, both for yourself and for those who might stumble into your porch someday?
GoldenGlow GoldenGlow
When I read it later, it feels like a quiet echo of that rain, a gentle reminder that I’m still there, still hoping. It’s a little lighthouse beam that keeps shining, even when the day feels far away, and I hope someone stumbling in might catch a glimmer and feel less alone.