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I used to make up stories in my head every time I see portraits.  Pictures to me have great stories.  It has been dubbed to paint a thousand words.  Even moving photographs have their own story going on before it started and after it ended.  A photograph is a glance, that blink of an eye that’s captured.  A moving photograph is a moment captured.  Words spoken before, during and after was never caught, and it’s a secret between the photographer and the subject.  A secret that is kept even if it’s not written.  Unwritten rules are the most followed.  We tend to defy what seems so final.  We tend to question straight answers hoping there’s more to it.

When you’re sad and decide to take a long walk, the sky knows.  Then it whispers, is it going to be you or me today?  Either you or the sky cries, but it always knows that when it starts to cry, you’d cry with it.  But then it’s a secret between the two of you.  The sky knows its tears and you know yours.  Many things you’d want to shout out at the top of your lungs in an open ocean, hoping it’ll be written in the sand, as it’s just wiped away by the waves when the tides change.

I keep on hearing, when it rains it pours but it can’t rain  forever.  When exactly is the day after forever?  I stopped believing in that word a long time ago.  The more challenges you overcome the stronger the winds that come back.  The bigger the dragons you slay, the greater are the next.  It’s a struggle to climb up but when you’ve reached the top, there’s nowhere else to go but down.  Well, isn’t it just great?  Nothing but useless nonsense.

 

– Juliet – 8132012 – 0227

Transition

This time I couldn’t just pack everything up and leave like before.  I couldn’t let myself.  I vowed to face life.  It’s just so easy to go back to that place, to my hiding place.  But I need this, I need now to deal with the mess that I left, that have grown their own messes.  A dragon at a time, a day at a time.  Hopeful for a better tomorrow, I will face this with or without backup.  I was the one who left, I was the one who hid.  I blame no one.  I can take this fight, with or without anyone.  I didn’t hide to be sought, I just did to find what I lost.  I didn’t leave to be run after, I packed up because I needed to know where to go next.

It’s hard to wake up in the morning not knowing what the day brings.  It’s even harder to know that and still wake up.  Time waits for no one.  Life ignores everyone, when it decides to happen, it just does.  No more wishes, not anymore.  Let this be an unfinished play of William.  Let this be the bullet that killed Vincent.  Let this be Napoleon’s cancer.  Let this be the knife of Johann’s doctor.  That’s life for you.  It happens when it wants to.  Hand in hand with time, they wait for no one.  But then again, they remind us everyday that we too must keep moving.  They give us that chance that we wasted yesterday.  The choices that we regret the day before.

Speak to me as if you’re looking at the mirror.  Tell me no lies, at least give me that.  Truth has always been stranger than fiction, for writers always wanted it to be realistic and only write what’s doable up to their human capacity.  And then there’s that story written by the true writer.  Then the plot and timing never gets any better.  The script is always a mystery but becomes the lesson as it turns into a memory.  Stories are easy to write, with or without bases.  You just have to have an imagination.

-Juliet- 08122012 – 2351