here I sit, with fingers resting on the keyboard waiting for words to fill the blank page in front of me.
but there are no words.
only an ending.
the end of a story full of life and beauty and love and pain. of laughter. and kisses. and betrayal. and lies. of confusion, anger. and tears.
a story that filled my every moment, that shaped me and gave me structure. security.
what do you do when you reach the end?
I’m closing the book. The last page has been turned, Volume One has ended. I glance toward the bookshelf where Volume Two stands upright, waiting. Waiting to be taken up and opened. Pages filled with a new story, a continuation but a newness. Characters are the same, only different now. I’m different now. I’ve evolved, expanded, loosened, relaxed. I’m me.
I feel a reluctance, though. I’m not quite ready to pick up the next volume. I’m afraid of what’s on those pages. It’s too scary right now. I need to sit a while in the in-between. I need to feel the sad and the relief and the disappointment and the hopeful. It's okay to feel.