Some time ago, I wrote a book. I used to say that it was me telling the most beautiful story every told but it was really me just telling a story that I never wanted to forget. A story that I wanted to share with the entire world because just like at times it brought out the worse in me, it also brought out the very best out of me.
I wrote the story and I didn't even bother to change the names (though I did put it under fiction in case my memory was pulling a James Frey on me). I wrote this fabulous story that defined and proved every abstract concept I believed in. I wrote this incredible story and one day I deleted it because I didn't want anyone else to read it.
It really was kinda' personal... (but even so, that was a really stupid move on my part)
After that long writing break I took earlier this year, I started writing it again but the story is not as good as it was. Or I can't tell it in the same way. I know that I feel very differently about all that now; but that shouldn't affect the memory of how that really went- if that makes any sense. Though maybe it is that it has stopped being so personal...
I like pictures. They are evidence of a particular point in time. Writing, not so much.