a novel

time is flying past me at super speed.

I can hear the fresh page turn. The crisp smell of new paper and deep purple ink just waiting to b explored. The excitement of unread pages, new knowledge, and experiences previously untrodden fill me with anticipation. And yes, the ink is purple. Not a pale lavender, like the flower fields I visited a few days ago with by brother, but a dark, majestic, Tyrian purple. An imperial purple, a royal color, that under the wrong light can even seem black at times, but should never, ever, be mistaken as such. I'm not exactly sure why the ink is purple. Perhaps to convey some message about the in-between, purple is after all neither black nor white. It has power, this color worn once only by royalty, and it is filled with emotion. Passion, wisdom, friendship, sympathy, and even rage. It is also the color of change, of commitment, of spring, and of Lent. And the paper, while it seems new, unexplored, and fresh to the touch, is the faded yellow of ages past. The hue of an older, long patie...

I've watched people write bucket lists, and I've never thought to do the same. I've never felt the urge. I've always been content to let life hit me, told God that life was good and I wouldn't feel cheated if I never got to do some of the things most people aim their lives towards. I guess we all change. This summer I have been hit with the desire to do many things. Many more things than I can fit into my plan at the moment, things that will have to wait, even though I don't want them to. Is it right, I wonder, to write that list down so that I have something to lament if it never comes to be? Can't I continue to live in the satisfaction that my life has been good, that life is good, and that God has not cheated me of anything? But isn't it also right to look forward at life and see potential? To see all the things that may be? To dream of the many, many good things yet to come? I am not sure which is best anymore, but I have the desire to write some dre...