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for friday 9:39 PM Saturday, August 13, 2011
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Once upon a time, there was someone who wanted to write a story, one with a happy ending. She had never written a story before and people warned her that the first story would cause her the greatest joy, yet the greatest pain. Although she could not understand what that meant, bought a new book and started writing in its crisp white pages. It was not long until the pages were filled with her handwriting. Every day she would write in the book and she was very happy about where it was going. She could see the happy ending.

She soon became bored of writing and neglected her book, which was still unfinished. Over time, the book became old and dirty. The pages were dusty and it sat in the rain for many days, uncared for and unnoticed. One day the writer suddenly remembered about the book. She found it lying under a pile of dust and quickly opened it. The pages were dry and broken from the rain and storms it had endured and the cover wasn’t strong enough to protect it. It fell apart. She was so sad that she didn’t get to finish her story that she tried writing in it again. It was too late, the pages were in a horrible condition and the ink wouldn’t stay on. She flipped to the beginning and tried to read what she had written. The words were blurry and smudged. She was frustrated that she never got to give this story a happy ending. Frantically she tried to repair the book and write the last chapter that would give the book it’s meaning. It was no use. If the book had a stronger cover, then its contents wouldn’t be destroyed. She realised that all along, the book was never meant for a happy ending. This WAS the ending.  Was just one storm, one obstacle enough to ruin what was written in the past as well as what could be written in the future?

She could feel the weight of the new book in her hands and she could smell its clean pages. The old, shattered book was in her other hand. She couldn’t bring herself to throwing it away… she still had a little spark of hope in it. But she knew she was lying to herself. She needed to write a new story and start over again. A new beginning. 


I have crossed oceans of time to find you.