I have read and reread stories I have written, Of people and of places that once had meaning.It seems as though there is a disconnectAs I can no longer feel the emotion in those moments.
But I have kept a track record of every hill I've crossed,I have pages and pages of tear streaked memoriesEmbedded innuendos and unanswered pleas.A child to a woman in the blink of an eye.
I look at my life and I often question my intentionsThis person I am now, is it real or my own illusion. Raised on the words of others quite like me, Attempting to create the characters within the books.
When looking in the mirror the eyes that stare searching, Are eyes that have always been there, those I know. They ask me when I will be honest with myself, How long I will continue to pretend to be something unlike me.
Yet there is strength in the motions of each day Finding myself in the discovery of a routine Opening myself from the written word to the real world There is power behind each action I take.
In a not too distant future I see progress Where Fear is no longer the deciding factor on where I am going As there is not much that will stop me Once I know where my passion lies.
And to the girl who wrote the pages Of the life that gave birth to my new thought, Even if I no longer know your memories - Find joy in the fact that we can let them go.
