I want to write tales of bravery.
Of powerful women who stood up against injustice and for kind-hearted men who chose right over what’s left
But these were not my stories
Not my tales to tell
The sound of a cheap pen scribbling out the words on a sheet of paper.
A notebook, partially filled with notes I took in Anatomy, but never finished.
Those are my stories.
No aimless tears on stainless steel
No diamond rings left shining in the rain
No busy streets and roaring crowds
No skyscrapers swaying in September
But there are some trees
Over grown paths with wildflower guardrails stretching into dusk
As I stand in the dark,
Watching the stars shine like silver
Feel the breeze on my skin
Breathing in the night air
Of My story
I may never win a war or steal a boat
I may never be eaten by a whale
Or learn to accept ordinary
Perhaps I may learn to love
But nothing is certain
Leave a rose by my tomb when I am gone
But do not shed a tear
Do not waste your tears for me
This will not be my story
Smile like the story is not over
Smile for your story is not over
Write it on more than your leftover notebook or a note in your phone.
The future is a beautiful thing
Full of mystery and adventure
Like a Mary Higgins Clark novel
Find a hunger for it
Use your biggest spoon and go for it
When the sky starts to fall
When you feel most alone
Remember my rose
Remember I love you
But this is not my story.
It is yours