In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Fear Factor.”
Of never getting my story across.
My only fear is that it will always remain unfinished.
The rushy words inside my head are now throbbing inside my stomach and they pinch my feet. They’re not just Saussurean representation of sounds and images, they’ve already connected and formed a tiny terracotta army. Sometimes, I can hear them. Their slow march grows inside my ears before I go to sleep and sometimes even when I am dreaming. When I awake, I try to grab them by their tail and ‘pull the story back trough me’. For the past months it managed to get away from me. Hiding behind everyday’s tumult I have rapidly created the perfect comfort zone with sharp edges. Sometimes, I would hit myself against them and the sweet pain of writing again emerges…for a while. But there are times when I bleed, continuously and I do not die, instead, I feel free like floating on top of the world. Vertige, you might say? Perhaps. Yet, I am enjoying it.
This is my promise to myself: from now on, not a day shall pass without continuing my story. It is my destiny, or less fatalist, it is who I am. And I owe it not only to myself but to the One who has put this in me.
We are all here for a purpose. The others are awaiting to see our light. Sit under the tree of inspiration and make room for your story to flow. Freely.
Make this year the best story of your life!