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Description
The paths we tread are long and often harsh
Grey fog may mute the colors of the land
The sun may hide away, darkened
Many roads we walk alone
More often then naught we find ourselves lost and scared
Perhaps we never had a destination to begin with, even as we crave one
And yet...
Every once in a great while, we meet someone on these lonesome roads
They take our hand and show us the way
They give us direction in the formless mists
They remind us why we walk
But eventually they must leave us, a road we cannot follow beckons them
and as they fade into the fog we remember the message they imparted upon us
Keep moving forward

...

This is... insultingly late but I said I would do it, so it is done.
I know it's far past the time when this should have been said but... Monty was a great man, one who should have had more time.
For most of my life, I have not known what it was that I wanted to do with myself, I wasted my days away with half formed dreams of things I could do, but ultimately threw to the wayside. Wallowing in my own self pity and the woes of life, I delved into the depths of fiction; literature, shows, the result of dreams and wonderment and I found unequaled joy in them. When my life was at its lowest, it was stories that kept me going, dreams of better times and happier places, friends I had never met but who were so close at heart that it did not seem to matter.
Somewhere along the line I began to take note of this strange man named Monty.
I saw a man who felt that he could do anything if he simply tried hard enough but more than that WAS doing the incredible, a man who reached into the nothingness and drew out from it inspiration and creation because he had the detirmination and passion to do so. Monty made me start to think about what it was I truly cared about, what was it that I could feel such a passion for as to drive me to create something meaningful. Somehow this man who I had never met managed to help me see what had eluded me for so long;
I wanted to be a storyteller.
Four years ago I began to write my first novel, set in a world I am still shaping today. I changed my university major from what I was told it needed to be to what I wanted it to be.
I finally had the vision to see just how important stories were to me, they had given me perspective beyond my years, hope in my darkest moments, new meanings to life and the courage to explore the fathomless depths of the imagination. I have never been happier than I have been in the last two years and I owe a great deal of that to Monty.
My greatest regret may well be that I never got the chance to tell him that. We live in a world that is lesser for his absence but it is in his memory and in honor of his legacy I have found my calling.
If I can inspire even just one person as much as he did for me, make one person smile at my stories or realize their own creative potential... I think I can die contented with my life.
So here's to you Monty, thank you for everything and may your legacy live on forevermore.

Description
The paths we tread are long and often harsh
Grey fog may mute the colors of the land
The sun may hide away, darkened
Many roads we walk alone
More often then naught we find ourselves lost and scared
Perhaps we never had a destination to begin with, even as we crave one
And yet...
Every once in a great while, we meet someone on these lonesome roads
They take our hand and show us the way
They give us direction in the formless mists
They remind us why we walk
But eventually they must leave us, a road we cannot follow beckons them
and as they fade into the fog we remember the message they imparted upon us
Keep moving forward

...

This is... insultingly late but I said I would do it, so it is done.
I know it's far past the time when this should have been said but... Monty was a great man, one who should have had more time.
For most of my life, I have not known what it was that I wanted to do with myself, I wasted my days away with half formed dreams of things I could do, but ultimately threw to the wayside. Wallowing in my own self pity and the woes of life, I delved into the depths of fiction; literature, shows, the result of dreams and wonderment and I found unequaled joy in them. When my life was at its lowest, it was stories that kept me going, dreams of better times and happier places, friends I had never met but who were so close at heart that it did not seem to matter.
Somewhere along the line I began to take note of this strange man named Monty.
I saw a man who felt that he could do anything if he simply tried hard enough but more than that WAS doing the incredible, a man who reached into the nothingness and drew out from it inspiration and creation because he had the detirmination and passion to do so. Monty made me start to think about what it was I truly cared about, what was it that I could feel such a passion for as to drive me to create something meaningful. Somehow this man who I had never met managed to help me see what had eluded me for so long;
I wanted to be a storyteller.
Four years ago I began to write my first novel, set in a world I am still shaping today. I changed my university major from what I was told it needed to be to what I wanted it to be.
I finally had the vision to see just how important stories were to me, they had given me perspective beyond my years, hope in my darkest moments, new meanings to life and the courage to explore the fathomless depths of the imagination. I have never been happier than I have been in the last two years and I owe a great deal of that to Monty.
My greatest regret may well be that I never got the chance to tell him that. We live in a world that is lesser for his absence but it is in his memory and in honor of his legacy I have found my calling.
If I can inspire even just one person as much as he did for me, make one person smile at my stories or realize their own creative potential... I think I can die contented with my life.
So here's to you Monty, thank you for everything and may your legacy live on forevermore.