Don’t take life for granted. Not the music or the lights or the hundred tiny threads weaving through every day.
I was going to tie the thought of taking life for granted with Christmas and the holidays. Except my attempt at that turned into a rambling intro with no point. So, skipping to the point of all this…how do we treat what we love?
Nothing is ever enough. The money we make. The respect we earn. The satisfaction in a job well done. No matter the tears and sweat we pour into ourselves, into others, and into projects—in the end we are left, surrounded by all we have gained and wondering, is there ever a point where we will be satisfied with what life?
Each mask hides another,
Veil on tear-stained veil.
Each tattered page of my heart
Inked and stamped and sealed
In the shadows of my mind.
Why do we write? Authors put hours and weeks and months into a project. They pound their head against walls, or sometimes against keyboards to see if any of the gibberish that results has merit.
And for what?
A few dollars, perhaps? A glowing review? Someone somewhere kinda knowing their name?
I got an idea from my best friend, awhile back. Something that helps me watch people better. Think about them. Wonder. You know, all that creepy, stalkerish stuff.
I write notes about people I see and save them.
I don’t write these all that often, but they are very fun, are good practice for me, and they give me a bank of characters to pull from if I need one sometime.
So I just had a birthday.
To put it in the terms my family uses, we celebrated me surviving another year and coming one year closer to death.