A story begins to unfold before you are born. Each chapter is written with every new day. As the words fill pages of an unread book, trusting eyes read the message as truth and shapes a view of the world they’re shown. Knowing only what you live as normal, until one day someone opens the door to a library full of warm stories and colorful pictures hidden behind the dark pages of memorized nursery rhymes.
Some can find the strength to climb the broken bookshelves with healing scars and paper cuts from falling debris as they ascend to their book of choice. Others fall beneath the rubble and are unable to push free from the binding stories they held as truth.
Interpretation is dangerous when you are given words that fill previously scorched pages. True meaning of what life can be will sometimes become lost in the ashes of burned volumes yet written…It will also, sometimes, collect the rich minerals of the ashes and grow new life that will build a stronger and more beautiful bookshelf to store unfolding future stories.
*I write this for my sisters…The ones still living and the one that is not.
We struggled with the same thing when going through family albums after dad died. What to keep what to throw out. History turned to ashes regrowing a better future. That is very good.
I know you miss her.
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It is a sad story and unfortunately there are many others with very similar ones. thank you for the kind thought.
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