Remembering

 I was young once, though I'm told otherwise. Some say I have an old soul, which is apparent in my writings. I've been told I channel Gibran, the writer of the Cedars of Lebanon. I don't know about that. I know my words come from a place I am getting closer to every day. I've often thought, who do you think you are because when I read something I wrote, it's actually good even if I don't know how the words found their way to the paper. 

I have sought comfort in writing for more years than I care to admit. It's my escape from the outside world, a place I've grown increasingly determined to avoid. I get lost in words, finding ways to express good things and make my readers smile, if only for a brief moment. I may take them to the circus, where the children scream with joy, and the smells of cotton candy and popcorn fill your senses as you sniff the air as you read.

I'll take you back to a time in your life when the family was everything and the American dream was a reality. Or I'll let you remember a certain person in my writing who reminds you of someone just like them. I've often said I believe it's God guiding my pen. Whatever the reason or the logic, I'm a storyteller and have been for decades. 

Now, as the sand in the hourglass continues to move, I am slowing down with the crafting of words. I find myself forgetting more, and unlike years ago, when I could write a chapter in hours, now I have to wait for the words to find their way into my mind and hope they make sense when finished.

I imagine everyone facing old age tries to hold on to yesterday in one way or another. I'm no exception as I search my soul for things to write things that will bring smiles, tears, and a memory or two for those who have forgotten.

Mike 2024