And … It’s February

Here’s to reading my writer description and noting it’s from this time last year. Really it is quite an accomplishment, seeing where I’ve come from.

Self growth can be quite extraordinary and terribly revealing.

At least, for the moment, I’m seeing progress. I see steps forward. There is backward reflection, as there always must be, but every step is in the forward direction. Arrows pointing towards the unknown and expectation.

It’s scary realizing you have an appetite.

I may be only realizing now that it’s February of 2013 but I’ve come so far and the months have felt like years. The confusion is understandable and pleasurable.

Here’s to enjoying the future, reflecting the past, and continuously finding our Blogs to be time capsule images of a moment. Because as moments go…I’d rather continue to actively live them then to always stop and write about them.

 

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Late Night Palm Reading

There’s a speck on my eye. I can only see it when I look away. Away from it. Away from direct light.

I know it’s there. Hindering. Distracting. I know it’s there. Reminding me, small things matter. Small things are large things. Small things.

The night sky, I see it. Only when I look away. The galaxies. The planets. The distanced anomalies to my own one-in-a-million existence.

Small things.

Key yet so insignificant. Key yet so insurmountable.

What’s trapped in my vision can be so symbolic. Symbolic to what’s to come. Symbolic to what I have to move away from.

It’s all left up to interpretation. Even still, it’s messages hold value. However I translate.

Speck in my eye. Horoscope. Distanced galaxies. Fortune.

SuperHero

Since I could dream they were filled with the desire to be remembered. Filled with a possibility of somehow being greater.

The events that follow prove to be somewhat limiting. However, being that I’m only 24 going on 25, I can see now I have time.

Previously feeling constrained by the counting seconds, I now feel something greater, time. Time for what it is.

I am in training for the attainabilty of what I know is to come. Forcibly so.

What is life but missed opportunity? I never want to feel the sting of regret. Truer then most failings, regret is so long-lasting. In memoirs we leave them to continue forward. Forward carried in the eyes and ears of our descendants.

One day, long from now, I want the wind to whisper my name. But more so, even if I was just “that one girl,” I’d be fine. For it’s what was done and the acts that are remembered that are of significance.

Being recollected is only the small of it.

Let my war cry ring from the mountains as I am now wanting my life to be mine, shared.

We are communal and in that I want us all to have these same desires.

I do have a dream and I hope I never awaken. For sometimes the dreams are greater.