A long time ago I started writing a story on here about a simple girl falling in love.
I called it fictional. Though I had left allot out, it wasn’t really a far stretch from the truth. It wasn’t even the truths next door neighbor. It was as fictional as the grass is pink.
It didn’t matter though. Not to me. Not to my readers. Not to anyone… well, not to anyone except my husband. Who without a moments hesitation knew exactly how close to the truth the story really was.
He never really said much about it. What could he really say? His words didn’t matter though. I couldn’t continue the story. I couldn’t reveal everything. Not after knowing he was reading along.
With his few words, the story died. Hidden once again deep within me.
But… I think the time has come where the story needs to be lived on. Not to hurt anyone. Not to make anyone feel better. Simply, because it is a story and I am a writer.
And… like with every post I write, because someday, someone, might happen upon my post and hear exactly what they have been looking for and will feel comfort in knowing that they are not alone.
And if for nothing else, because every story deserves to be written…. and because that simple girl can’t be left hanging in a free fall, right?!
(But, it’s 1:30am, so this particular story will have to wait until morning! So stay tuned!!)