Beginnings are tricky. That's why there are way too many books on getting started.
Middles can be just as bad. Like when you're caught between your heart and a hard place. The choices can be tricky there too.
Endings are never how you expect them to be.
But for now, we are just about a beginning. Like when did I first see him? After years of not seeing him even when we said hello every time we met as I passed by him on my way to somewhere else or someone else.
No one knows. I don't know. I could make a guess. Or two.
But what started it all was a dream, even if I could not exactly pinpoint when it happened. The kind of dream you get when you sleep at night expecting to be comforted with rest except that you end up getting messy and mixed up messages from the universe. Or whatever higher power you believe in.
The dream became dreams. More. More of those kinds that have me waking up with a heart close to bursting. Denial was my default. It has always been.
I could not possibly. Really. It doesn't make sense. My story paths never intimated that particular line on the map. In fact, it might not even be a line but a crease. An accidental connection. A misread meaning.
I've done this before. Writing about the progressions of a heart. The ups and downs. The phoenix-like death and rebirth. The madness that could rival the Hatter's. The joys. The unsent and unspoken all come to dwell here.
Sometimes I flip a switch and all the rawness illuminates and I send them all out to home in on an unsuspecting target.
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