I wouldn’t write my book in flashbacks. I would start this very second and move forward because everything that will happen has already occurred to me before in one form or another. My life is a pattern of indulgences and corrections where logic seldom holds sway.
Maybe it’s better that way. Ruled by emotions, I can at least feel joy along with the tides of horror. I have a beating heart that I hear in the quiet moments alone in my room, reminding me: “you’re not done yet.”
So I walk out again, ready for what comes, because I know there is a murmuring rhythm to all this tiresome discourse and pretense. I have a faith based, not on some nebulous reward, but on the simple proof of my life.
© 2021 Jeff E. Brown. All rights reserved.