I enjoy sharing my writing so today I thought
I'd put up a little excerpt from something
I wrote when I was deciding whether
or not to date someone.
My heart beats in perfect tune with my breath and I hear my feet pounding against the rock beneath me. Loose pebbles slide behind my too quick pace and a light dust billows in my face. I reach my first stop. I pause for a moment, catch my breath and listen carefully to my body. As I close my eyes I realize my limbs are not aching at all. My muscles feel ready to take on the world. But my mind is weary as ever from the long days of thought and contemplation. I stand back and gaze down at the view. It is January and the desert is unusually green. Patches of moss and weed clutter the usually brown ground. The mountain slopes and winds through the newly built homes at the bottom. Against my body's better judgement, I take a seat on a bench and close my eyes, letting the light breeze cool the beads of sweat surrounding my brow.
Seemingly, out of my conscious control, my heart opens, all but a little. How could this have happened? I feel my mind spin violently out of control, not knowing where the road will lead. I feel helpless against its great power and let myself be consumed.
Possibility is the first path I meander through. Images flash before me: smiles, beautiful touches and intoxicating laughter. The laughter is how I know it was real. "Happiness within my reach and I cannot help myself." So many reasons to indulge the fantasy and chase its wild colors whereby they go. I feel hope. I feel a longing so bad it almost hurts. And I see a beautiful tomorrow.
The images crumble and my eyes open suddenly and almost violently. The ill-fated bitterness of the past consume my mind. I now see the reasons to stop the dreaming, the childish thoughts of what could be. Reason engulfs my person. How can this creation of my heart actually exist? How can the impossible come to be? So many reasons to turn back from that foolish path; to give up before I begin. Disillusionment, fear and the sting of past pain slowly creep back into my soul.
And yet, even then, as I looked at that treacherous path, I knew what I would choose. Ever the dreamer, I felt myself grasping at what could be. All is not lost. Through bravery and hope, beautiful, unassuming hope, I will find my end. Whether it be wonderful or obliterating, I cannot know now. But I am writing again. All is not lost.