For the past few days, I’ve done the same thing. I sit down in front of my computer and write a few lines. I’ll say them over in my head trying to decide where the story is going, and then after careful consideration I’ll delete them again. My heart isn’t interested in telling these stories that my mind conjures. It wants something more.
Even now as my fingertips stroll along the keyboard I’m asking myself if I’m sure these words are right. So far my heart hasn’t skipped a beat signaling my far right pinky to dance upon the delete button, so I carry on.
They’re funny things aren’t they? Fingers. You can move them all in sync, or separately. Then there are times where you can’t move them at all. Like when they’re in the hand of a beautiful girl. Then they’re hoping that they fit well there, and praying they don’t begin to sweat. Typically, sweating is the palms fault. Palms have never really been that good with women. That’s why Fingers are there to back them up.
Now, mine venture back and forth from resting quietly upon the keys, to treading them lightly. In the case however that my heart has something to share my fingers focused and determined, pound the keys of my laptop like the march of an independent army. Prepared for battle with the heavy cloud of certainty that this might be the last time they ever share again.
And it might.
This life was handed to us (no finger pun intended) and we’re expected to live it the way we see fit. No one promised us a certain number of days. They never said you’ll be alive long enough to…
No. What they said is, this is your chance. No one knows how long you have, so give it everything you’ve got. Why put off something today with the excuse that you’ve always got tomorrow. That’s simply not true. We don’t have tomorrow. Tomorrow actually never comes. We will always be in today. Even if you sleep for twelve hours, wake up and the date is different… It will still be today. So why not spend today in a way that you’ll remember it when it becomes yesterday? Give it hope. Give it a chance to breathe life into the life of another. Hold the hand of someone you love… Hell, hold the hand of someone you just met, and through those fingertips, extend the life that you breath into the tips of theirs.
My fingers carry my voice. It leaks down from my throat, circling my heart, through my chest, past my shoulder blades, into my arms and through the tips of my ten tiny pens working together to construct a story far more incredible than my mind has ever considered.
Even after my fingers scamper back and forth writing line after line, that story still isn’t out… However nothing has been deleted either. Who knows. Maybe my hands are telling me something. Maybe these little fingers just want to speak. Maybe they could talk about two liter bottles, French bread and candy bars. As long as it comes out the write way, then they’ll be happy. And yes… I meant write. I didn’t misspell it. You see, there is a difference in the right way and the write way. The right way implies that there is a wrong way, and that you have to avoid it by following rules and guidelines. The write way is your voice being heard regardless of the subject, and it meaning something. As long as it’s well written, it doesn’t matter what you’re saying… As long as you mean it.
So here is my voice. Here are my fingers. Here is my heart.