This may be the most personal blog post I've made to date. I want to tell you a story, one I hope will inspire you to whatever aspirations await you. Please do not glean the same conclusions I have, because your experience will be different, but it will be beautiful all the same.
Like most little people, I had enough dreams to last several lifetimes. I wanted to be a dancer, a writer, a doctor, a mother, a wife, a meteorologist, a singer. As I got older, some of these dreams grew weaker while others grew stronger, and no matter what emotions I had, I could always dance. Dance. Dance. When I was happy, I'd dance. when I was sad, I'd dance. When I was frustrated, I'd dance. I could express myself that way.
I'd also sing. Pour my heart out in my bedroom, all by myself. I'd feel better.
And I'd read. And I'd write. Strings of words were constantly flowing through my head. Sometimes there was a bigger story behind them, sometimes not. Sometimes I'd write them in a journal, sometimes I wouldn't.
And then there was science and math, where in school I excelled. It was logic and reasoning. There was always a solid answer. One correct formula, no gray area.
Then sometime around the age of 15, something happened. It was like the world opened up for me and got bigger than I ever imagined. I was at church, signing in the choir, and the notes and words in the hymnal jumped out at me. Honestly, I don't remember the message that day, but I do remember sitting down and studying the hymnal. Then, with permission, I took it home. I realized how the notes worked with the lyrics. I understood meter, syllables, and yes, even math. I started to realize how all of these things I loved so much were weaved together. Art and language. Math and music. Meter and timing. How all of things helped each other as they intertwined to make something more powerful than just a sentence. Just a solution. Just a song.
And so I wrote a poem. It was June 21, 1998, and I was 15 years old.
Her world went black,
Without a sound,
She turned her back,
And hit the ground.
An envelope was laid,
On the desk in the hall,
Surrounded by the shade,
Of the lamp standing tall.
It sat on the wood untouched, alone,
Until the morning sunlight through the window shone.
He picked up an envelope in his hand,
Why it was there he didn't understand.
No writing graced the cover of white,
And so he opened it in morning's light.
A letter was placed neatly inside,
He unfolded the paper, read it, and cried.
Nothing now could undo the pain,
The morning's sunlight now turned to rain.
She'd taken her life, now his love was gone,
He knew in his heart he'd have to go on.
He descended the stairs to where his love lay,
Knelt beside her, closed his eyes, and prayed.
He kissed her cheek and lay down by her side,
And he knew then that his heart had lied.
He took her small hand into his,
And gave her one last, final kiss.
In his hand he held a knife,
And by her side, he took his life.
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