Time was, all I knew was how to cry.
Or laugh. To keep from crying.
All I knew was how to cry, how to relive the pain from the past, stabbing my mind with the needles of memories undying.
I grew into a living history book, recalling, pristinely, accurately, completely, events and situations from an odd day before. Complete with emotional bookmarks. Pain, Fear, Regret.
Always Regret. Never forgetting how happiness was lost by only one tiny mistake. Me.
All I knew was how to kill me.
Then I unlearned it.
Like the dust off of the old furniture, I cleaned my mind, and set it to use once again. Before self-consciousness had ever set in. Before I ever saw me as anything more than a Nothing. I saw myself as something.
This is the truth.
Whole worlds cracked open from the pure black sky, aching to live and love and die, and I saw myself in those worlds, like a mirror I saw into, who saw me back.
The canvas was set.
The paint laid out.
The tools were ready.
And then I saw the Idea.
Persistence counts, but only if you're going somewhere with it. The Idea was a perfect destination.
All I had to do was drive.
And make sure to laugh and to cry at the appropriate times. Because who you were before will always stay with you. Who you are is what you've already done. The dust will always remain, in the air. Waiting to fall.
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