Finding your own voice is a worthwhile pursuit. Telling a story takes time, telling your own story can take a lifetime. Arguably it is best left for another to tell, so one can focus on living. This life is for living, learning. This life is for loving. Life is not too short to enjoy, but it’s too short to waste.
Words get lost when we are scared of what other people think. The truth becomes hidden & to be accepted is to be surrounded. Is anything worse than to keep up an appearance? Playing a part is something that we feel pity toward in the lives of others, yet we are comfortable to play. Having something to say & someone to say it to, is what matters most. Stick to your guns, you know what you’re talking about.
Holding someone’s attention long enough to tell a story is hard these days, that charm & the ability to raise your voice, to exaggerate to make them laugh, is no competition for a handheld computer. Trust that the words you choose are important. In times of loss we go searching, for familiar foods, faces & sounds. For all the old stories & cartoons buried on dusty VHS tapes, we never look for something new. We trust the finding of our failures for once when we are sad, never when we are riding high. It’s like us to wallow & have a cave to regress to. It’s the reason battles always rage, as Pride has a louder tone than Sense in every war room briefing. It’s why souls are swept by fire & words need to hit the page to be remembered, at very least, the screen.
It’s not often you want to reach into every clock & roll time forward. Too often our lives are laced with regret. It’s the past that people are forever pining for. Being in love, truly in love is when you want time wasted, if only to speed up the time spent apart. To get to the end, to see if we’ve made it. Loss is a selfish act. But loving, can combine both. Both selfish & selfless. Depending on the mood & situation you find yourself in. Sometimes love is taken to the street for all to see. It’s just as good behind the sheets of an indoor fortress. Our love is a garden, a slow train, a promise.
I worry sometimes about how I will be remembered. I worry what people think. To spend a life living, only to be honoured for the fake. To be misrepresented, or even worse, forgotten. Although I think you’ll find it happens to us all. What I truly care about is that people keep loving. For if they do passion will continue to exist. Without passion there are no stories & without stories there is no love. A tale told opens the door to the heart, honest words keep the fire burning.
In love & life.
It’s good to know your worth.