Underneath this pretty face is a story being written. Some days I am hoping that I am only living a rough draft, because the story thus far has not followed my outline. This is not really who I am, and yet it is my very essence spilled out onto chapters and pages. Almost like a faint impression of myself bleeding through the ink; I’ve just somehow gotten caught between the lines. Underneath all the grammar and punctuation mistakes, I am there.
I know in life there really is no rough draft, only one chance, one try to get things right. You can’t use an eraser or the backspace button…you can only cross out the mistakes, yet they are still visible, and able to be read. Our history is always there. Our past will always haunt us. My past will always be a story that will need explaining. But we learn from our mistakes right? Unless you’re me…I seem to have been able to figure out how to copy and paste and repeat things in my life over and over. I need to come up with some new material; shake it up a bit.
Maybe I’m just in the part of the book that is never interesting, the part that just drags on and on, yet is still important because the writer is building up the the climax. Maybe my book will be filled with adventure, romance, and drama. Maybe I’m really not the main character in this life but a huge supporting character in someone else’s; or maybe I’m just the character that no body remembers. I just know my life, my story, has to have more meaning than what I have already written out on paper. I just don’t know how to get started…again. (writer’s block) I feel I can do so much more, be so much more, yet, I’m not.
but again…this story is still being written.
I just need to pick up the pen again.