A Story Yet Untold

Pavement streams by

Her hair dances wildly in the wind.

With jaw unclenched and clothes unkept

The world is hers for the taking.

Music battles the violent breeze for a louder voice.

Uncomplicated,

Undetermined,

and Uncommon.

She is the picture of potential.

A story unread.

A story yet untold.

Her eyes press through the glaring sunlight

As lines on the pavement stretch before.

Where does she go?

It matters not to where she travels

But only that she does.

It matters not if she arrives

But only that she tries.

For she is on the road to beautiful.

And she is beautiful.

I believe

What do I believe?

I believe that every step I take is a blessing.

I believe that pain often times does result in pleasure.

I believe that love takes many forms.

I believe that God has a one of a kind love for us.

I believe that love is reflected in nature.

I believe that love is reflected in language.

I believe that love is reflected in mathematics.

I believe that love is reflected in art.

Most of all, I believe that love is reflected in science.

I believe that science is proof of my Creator rather than proof of His absence.

I believe that our President, no matter who he is or what party he associates with will do a better job than I ever could.

I believe that intelligence is relative.

I believe that no one has to find their path - they are already on it.

I believe that women and men are meant to be loved differently.

I believe that people who have to fight for their love know the meaning of the word more than anyone else.

I believe that people have the right to love.

I believe that government belongs in the banks and on the battlefield, not in my or anyone else's relationship.

I believe that people have the right to live.

I believe that the government has the duty to protect people from their own destruction.

I believe that to take someone else's life.

I believe that many people care more about animals than they do about other people.

I believe that sometimes I am that person.

I believe that God sings over me.

I believe that He sees my suffering and wants to hold me.

I believe that He romances me through the magnitude and subtlety of his design.

I believe that this world was destined to be a beautiful and perfect place.

I believe that I aided in its destruction.

I believe that fear is the most damaging emotion.

The Glory in the Ordinary

A day is just a day.

A night is just a night.

The sun rises and falls and makes way for the clutter of evening lights.

A breath is just a breath.

A step is just a step.

And life is mandated to be nothing more than that.

But what happens when the ordinary becomes endangered?

What is life when the sun no longer rises?

What is life when the moon and the stars no longer cast strange shadows on the wall?

The days are numbered.

What happens when a breath becomes an anthem - a goal in and of itself?

What happens when a step is worthy of a celebration?

What is this life? Is it life at all?

Is it beautiful, or is it terrible?

Each thing, each action, each thought that once served as the means is now the end.

So what of life?

Ah, this is it.

Oh, the glory in the ordinary.

This day is as each before it should have been.

Tomorrow

Tomorrow.

It is a day that I did not wish to come, yet I admired it.

It always stood far in the distance.

It is a day that once carried with it so many expectations.

The expectations of eyes closed shut.

The expectations of a heart unbroken.

The expectations of a spirit unshaken.

My mind did not know the end of any story.

Tomorrow is a day that I wish could fade into never.

Not because the expectations of an unknowing soul will go unsatisfied.

But because it is a day that marks the first of many lasts.

It is the first of many days that will fluster and twist and unbalance my ever-grounded feet.

It is the first of many lasts.

It is the first of many tears.

It is the first of many days that bring humanity to my doorstep.

A story draws to an end.

A card - a simple card - carries the meaning of life in its very fibers.

Each cent carries with it the weight of timeless questions and the significance of a thousand inquiries from the most learned minds and wisest of spirits.

A smudge of ink may end us all.

Words themselves do not have the vocabulary to describe the significance of tomorrow.

It is a void.

A void of understanding.

A void of wanting to know.

A void of wanting to feel.

This story draws to an end.

Maybe it is only the beginning.

The beginning of a new understanding.

Will tomorrow ever be what it once was?

Was tomorrow always going to become this?

It will be the most human of human experiences.

As real and as painful as they come.

My story draws to an end.

Eyes creased in the folds of faces pinched with glee turn to eyes widened with wonder and fear of unattainable understanding.

Lips once poised in perfectly crafted smiles turn to lips resting on jaws clinched with anticipation.

Anticipation of what? It has yet to make itself known.

The final word. It is not my own.

Freedom is lost.

The freedom to feel.

For it is too strong.

If I feel - I will feel fear.

If I feel - I will feel anger.

If I feel - I might feel joy.

And joy might be the most terrible of them all.

Tomorrow is a selfish beast.

And the world will never know.

The end.