Friday, July 6, 2012

In which I get Byronic on this here blog.

First, I’m not a writer. Or so I’ve been told. But I’ll try to tell you a story that’ll make you feel something. I want you to know what little I know or have discovered about love and honor and eternity. You probably already know about most of that yourself, being a person with a head on your shoulders and some time here on the Earth. But if you’re like me, it helps to know someone else out there has been through similar stuff. Even if that someone else isn’t any smarter than you.

I love the stars. I take comfort from them. There is nothing better than a sky full of bright stars, especially on a cold winter’s night or above the ocean. They hang above, brilliant and steady, slowly wheeling around the sky, and walk with you unchanging. I’ve lain out under them at times, flat on my back, looking straight up, and, y’know, it can suddenly seem like I’m falling forever and always upward into them, rushing through the heavens, a little speck of existence flying into the great nothingness of the sky.
Sometimes I feel like I’m all alone except for the stars. They seem like friends to me, constant and never-changing. Because when you’re lonely, the loneliness can play tricks on you, or make you turn to unloving (I meant unliving, but I’ll leave it) things for companionship.
I glide across the fields of the night, starlight silvering the grass, the darkness making everything strange and fay, and I fly up to the Moon and beyond, the summer wind staying with me as a warm blanket. The stars are blue-white fireflies in the backyard of the night, winking and slowly, slowly flying to where they are going, drowsy and lazy. The stars wash over me forever and ever…   

1 comment:

  1. Unless this is a first-person character speaking from a story not yet developed, I'd say calling yourself not a writer is at best incorrect and at worst a damn lie.

    And I think it definitely is a great beginning to something. You should continue/ finish. Why not, ya know?