Day 149 "I The Novel"

I am a lifelong novel, whose chapters are written and sketched and burned into my psyche for the duration of my future days.

The pages that I once wrote so definitely are becoming buried beneath the weight of the words that I know I will try to write next.

This lifetime of ink spilled upon a page that constantly fades in and out of the full spectrum of my intended vision; but intention is not truth, not fact, and not guaranteed.

Within this lifetime I may go back and read these chapters when, or if, I ever desire to, and I can only hope to learn to read these pages with a lighter heart than this one I currently feel the weight of.

What happens in the next chapter is what matters to me now, and what I choose to write next is the only thing that matters at all.

The past is never the past at all when we choose to live within its undertow.

There is no plot to be written, no ideas or fantasies of revenge or reclamation now, and all that is left is the desire to document the journey of a new path ahead.

The next chapter to write I must dedicate to myself in full honesty, to my soul, to my truest desire to connect on all levels that can attempt to fulfill me.

This next page must be made to give me a reason to breathe, without the question to stop instead.

There is no easy way to write any part of this ongoing magnum opus of mine, only the necessity and responsibility of having to write it further exists.

There is no way to know under what category this future novel will be filed under, and the only hope we have is to try to write it for the shelf we wish to leave it.

This life, with all of its uncertainty and all of its impossible pages to write on, all of its possibilities and pain; I know one thing for sure…I will not willingly write a tragedy.