I was once told my life would be an open book. The thought terrified me. Not because I had something to hide from others, but because I had been hiding from myself.
I wandered into a dark place in my mind—a place built not on grand deceptions, but on small lies. Lies that whispered I was fine when I wasn’t. Lies that kept me from being truly useful in my attempts to be good.
Now, I am ready to share my journey. Not as a finished tale, but as an allegory—an open book that will never be complete. Because life itself is never complete.
Perhaps this story only belongs to me. Yet I suspect there are others who have circled the same door, hesitated at its threshold, and turned away out of fear of the unknown. My hope is that by opening my book, others may find courage to step through their own.
An open book never ends—it only finds new ways to be reread.
No comments:
Post a Comment