It
was a journey. They all start out that way, right? One second you’re just
living your life, the next you’re fighting for it. You push on and on until you
feel it will all come crashing down around you. They told you once they would
be there forever. That lasted only so long. Now you are alone, and you are
running, running away from everything you know to start something new. And it
will all start over again.
But
it’s a journey, not an event.
So
when I start this, I mean not to give you a tale of hope and happiness. I don’t
pretend to have it all together. I won’t fool you into thinking that what you
read will be pleasing to your eyes and ears and minds. I laugh at the idea that
my story would give your life meaning.
What
is the purpose, then? To what end to I strive for as I sit behind a keyboard,
typing away while I should be reading the countless words of the wise in order
to better myself (so they say) and receive a piece of paper saying I am
capable? That is all it is really, anyways. So why do I pass this writing
before you in hopes that you will read every word, once or twice, maybe three
times? Why do I even try?
I
desire only that you would notice; that you would know I have been; that you
would acknowledge my existence; that you would give just one nod to the one who
stood by, understood all, believed before denial, trusted before defense, hoped
from the bottom of a bruised heart that it would not become stone cold. If only
for a moment, please have faith in me.
