Between a rock and a hard place


Finding the lost pages of the book of life.
June 10, 2008, 6:48 pm
Filed under: 2008, life, love, ME, memories, The Pursuit of Happiness, thoughts | Tags: , ,

Losing, loss, life, fighting, wanting, yearning, missing; things I know about. 

 

Acceptance, love, holding, forward movement; things I know a bit about. 

 

Finding myself, realization; things I know very little about. 

 

As of late, I’ve been on a hunt, a journey, a quest, a mission if you will, to find, me. Thats not to say I feel as if I’ve lost myself. On the contrary, I believe that in the last few years I have emerged for the first time as a true, at least truer, version of myself. 

 

I guess self (re-) evaluation is common place, at a time in life when you find yourself closing one chapter completely, yet desperately stuck between pages trying to start the next. Wondering if maybe you’re reading this book too fast, wanting to go back and re-read the best parts. Rip out the pages that you wish you hadn’t even looked at, and thinking, “what if I could just read the last few pages to find out how it all ends, so that the rest of the story makes more sense”. 

 

I have always devoured books, pushed through them to move on to the next. And up til now I’m realizing I’ve lead my short 21 years in the same manner. With the pages slowly turning towards this new chapter of life, I’m starting to slow things down, to linger over the language, savor the vocabulary, and admire the author as she writes out these inner monologues, and soap box rants.

 

There are always stories that you wish would never end. That you wish the author would just keep coming up with story line for, and if you’re lucky you feel the same way about your personal novel. I’m starting to realize that my apprehension with pulling apart stuck pages, is that I worry my book will be over too soon. That I’ll blink and be 17 pages from the end. So I’m keeping myself in a state of wonder about what the next chapter holds. If the main character has made the right choices thus far, and what she’ll do in the upcoming decades, what happens to the other characters, can she do it without them, and, and and and and. 

 

My mind goes a mile a minute about the next chapter, and then the story keeps me up at night, having gone from a harmless folk tale to a horror mystery giving little girls nightmares, and keeping me up at night, helplessly grasping at paper trying to pry them apart without them incurring damage. 

 

And then he smiles at me, or my dog licks my face, or my mom calls, and the edges loosen a little bit. 

 

I may not be ready to turn them just yet, but maybe with a little heat, and love they could be coaxed open. 

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