Switzerland
France
Life's book goes on and on and on... But never will you know, at the opening of the cover, what the paper is going to be made of, and in which direction are the pages going to turn... Wherever human beeings have been, they've always simply opened the book, and dove in its content, without looking back, often without keeping the title in mind.
I had taken this book on the shelf, having recieved it as a gift, hoping it would be a nice fairy story... Or simply a story of life, straightforward, happy, as the one the others seems to read. But mine was empty from that page, right after a tragic end. And then it was blank. Ready to be rewritten.
I now have to make a choice. Do I throw the book away? And start another one? Or do I simply take my pen, and try as best as I can to continue this story as it is. Hard choice. But when there's life, there's hope, ain't it?
My hand grasps the pen, heavy and hard to move on the soft coiled paper. This story is maybe yet to be continued...
I had taken this book on the shelf, having recieved it as a gift, hoping it would be a nice fairy story... Or simply a story of life, straightforward, happy, as the one the others seems to read. But mine was empty from that page, right after a tragic end. And then it was blank. Ready to be rewritten.
I now have to make a choice. Do I throw the book away? And start another one? Or do I simply take my pen, and try as best as I can to continue this story as it is. Hard choice. But when there's life, there's hope, ain't it?
My hand grasps the pen, heavy and hard to move on the soft coiled paper. This story is maybe yet to be continued...
...Me...
