For all your untold stories …

May the mornings be different; may our wakes change forever. Or do we just really realize how much we have changed in the way? Some awakenings, though in the same bed, on the same pillow, in the same city and on the same street, may be like opening a window to a new world. Although we expected that we should go to the other end of the world for such a moment.

God, what a delusion.

We all have some of our chapters, which we’ve been writing for a long time. We fought. We tortured ourselves. And we laughed, cried, hated ourselves across the borders and pushed our own hearts across them, and then, one day, gave up anyway.

And it always seemed that giving up came abruptly, as the world turned, the moment came, the heart made the leap, and we took a pen and wrote the last sentence, made a point and finished.

The ink was not even dry yet, but everything looked different.

The millions of lines printed behind us are just that – lines.

It is strange how many of a woman’s heart expresses them, how much hope she puts into a dream, how many times she wakes up at night and breaks all the reasons for and against her … and she spins, spins, always in the same vicious circle. And then, one morning, she looks at the finished chapter. She is a stranger to herself.

Because it can’t go back to any of those emotions. Because each of them is so foreign. Borrowed. As if she wasn’t exactly part of the story. It was as if it had been written by another woman, from another age, in someone else’s life.

Have you ever found yourself in a story where you were supposed to be the main character, but you actually played a supporting role the whole time?

Have you fought for your place under the sun and your five minutes on stage? How did it feel to look at someone else in the role of your life?

How many times have you been waking up to the realization that this was not the story you wanted? How many times did your heart betray you when you wanted to run away? That best part of you, was your biggest enemy.

For weeks, months, maybe years, because each of us once was just a side character in our own story, until she realized that it wasn’t the right story and that it could end and start another.

At some point, you stop caring about others because they didn’t care what they did to you and your heart. It will no longer matter to you who will know how, where and to whom and whether they will be able to end it? You take what you need, look at the point at the end of the last sentence and roll the sheet.

New chapter.

A million options in front of you and no brakes.

The whiteness of the blank sheet, and all the potential of an as yet untold story, fills your veins with something you haven’t felt for so long and you realize it’s pure excitement.

You cannot even guess where you will go, with anyone, or how, or what adventure it will be, but from the very thought of a new beginning, new worlds are born in you.

And it will be such a startling realization that the difference is just one sheet.

The last in the chapter you finished, came to mind, was hard and painful and exhausted you so much.

There is nothing on this and no shackles. There is no emotion other than the one you choose to express. So you grab the pen with one hand and slide the other over the smooth white paper while biting your lips eagerly to move…

Morning smells of dreams you don’t remember, coffee and cinnamon rolls. The sky is gloomy but it looks beautiful because it offers so many new adventures.

It catches you laughing, and … you don’t know what you’re really laughing at, but you’re absorbing the moment, that first moment, in a new story where you’re guaranteed a lead role.

The pen touches the paper and that moment in time and space seems a little fairy-tale to you, like some unrealistic movie scene, but … you don’t care, it’s yours, you fought for it.

The first words grow as the pen leaves a trace of graffiti, as if you were carving letters into stone. You laugh, music comes from somewhere, you absorb the aroma of coffee, you can smell cinnamon and the sugar on your lips and you love… yourself.

And it gives you a strange feeling of how light it really is, a new … liberating. And you realize it’s the only thing you ever really needed is you.

~ for all the wonderful women and all their still unfinished stories. I wish you the most wonderful chapters. –