Write Me a Piece of Your Unwritten Story



In the process of talking aimlessly, our mind wanders with the words spoken; and how the words sound. The one who listens just listen and thought about the words spoken. Spoken words are written in the heart of the listener but forgotten in the heart of the speaker. Words were just mere words. But the one who listens, mere words are simply an anecdote of the future and  a note to the heart, already crafted deep within; carve naturally and somehow it’ll make sense one day. Words that come out in the mouth has a way of delving the depth of the matter. The matter hasn’t dealt for so many days, a spoken words of long time ago. There were words uttered yesterday and yesterday was just another wind. But memory serves as the reminder of each crafty words. Words that has a power to touch the mind and cut the heart linger longer and live right there; rooted in the corner of memory. Memory, a friend and enemy cost you heartbeat of tears, a bundle of nerves and a memory of joy.

Of course, that serves as one helluva-heck of a story.

Define memory.  A past. An unwritten feelings and emotions cut through the heart and mind. Memory is a memorabilia of images and pictures of the past. Old letters,  stationary of colors, hues and they are the sepia of the mind. They are memory of the mind. Others keep them and some people simply throw them away. The one who keep it treasure them but the one who throw it away is another story. Pages of smiling faces, black and white, neon colors create words to make a story.  Ah, here’s another one. Stories of the past. How it reminds you of someone? Once you flip each page and chapters of black and white, stories are just right there. And the one who open the pages know, knew that somehow people in the past do exist and you can’t help but wonder, would you be one day become a part of the collection? Then, through it all, you wonder where were you on the date shown and what were you doing? Were you born yet? Or simply just out there tossing and turning in the mist of time or just an imagination sprout like a seed of dawn.

But that was that. Just simply there. Glued and never forgotten.  Too many things happened between then and then.  Laughter, smiles and abundant joy are evident in the face. Life has to go on. One day, things will fall into its place. Surrender is a matter of smile. And that the universe will receive that smile. Content and willing. Willing to tell and accept silently that all things matter and that nothing has wasted and all matters were written in the wind.

The wind blows. Anywhere it goes. Winter has its moment and snowflakes were fallen, hoping for its last season.  Soon break the spring and the memory of winter soon be forgotten when there comes rain. Tulips will soon bloom and lilies on its beauty.

And the story still dancing with the wind. Unwritten but screaming to be written and publish.





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