Why wait for the ending when you can write one?
You're the author of your book of life, write it down to read it.
On that very last written page, I stopped to think of the what ifs and should haves, pondering on ways to keep moving forward, on how to keep reading even though the pages are empty. And then my fingers started to dance --reaching for the only tool to make the book alive again; a pen.
"What are you doing?"
Somehow a voice so familiar resonant in my head.
And so, I smiled back in return with a garden of bliss growing inside of my heart.
"I'm writing down my own happy ending."
I began writing to continue the unwritten story with a whimsical tale of a girl who once had her heart broken but she was no longer in vain as my fingers ran across the pages --writing down laughter instead of tears, a pleasant solo ride instead of a complicated pair, friends instead of lovers, the treasured moments instead of the missed person, undying self love instead of an unrequited one, and through it all, the light instead of the dark.
Those missing pages are found in my own hands and the blanks of where his name should have been, is written with something more powerful than that to his love. Yes, it is the love comes from the heart beneath my chest that sings joy in its melody.
I'm the author of this book now. So, tell me why should I seek for the epilogue when the fact that I can create the happiest ending to the book unfinished?
You're the author of your book of life, write it down to read it.
On that very last written page, I stopped to think of the what ifs and should haves, pondering on ways to keep moving forward, on how to keep reading even though the pages are empty. And then my fingers started to dance --reaching for the only tool to make the book alive again; a pen.
"What are you doing?"
Somehow a voice so familiar resonant in my head.
And so, I smiled back in return with a garden of bliss growing inside of my heart.
"I'm writing down my own happy ending."
I began writing to continue the unwritten story with a whimsical tale of a girl who once had her heart broken but she was no longer in vain as my fingers ran across the pages --writing down laughter instead of tears, a pleasant solo ride instead of a complicated pair, friends instead of lovers, the treasured moments instead of the missed person, undying self love instead of an unrequited one, and through it all, the light instead of the dark.
Those missing pages are found in my own hands and the blanks of where his name should have been, is written with something more powerful than that to his love. Yes, it is the love comes from the heart beneath my chest that sings joy in its melody.
I'm the author of this book now. So, tell me why should I seek for the epilogue when the fact that I can create the happiest ending to the book unfinished?
Comments