Natalie

Ecstasy.

That’s the word,

that beautiful word,

evoking an image of the most unbridled joy.

That’s how it felt;

the hands slipping me out of the drawer,

carefully, caringly wiping away my dusty tears.

They almost tremble,

the unknown future,

the boundless thoughts,

worlds,

and lives we will create.

They peak inside me,

wriggling into my unwritten memories.

Light illuminates me and I feel the shadow of purpose begin to engulf me.

The pen strikes,

staining my beautiful white pages with life.

Life,

written like blood through my tangential veins;

my purpose granted as I become a conduit of life,

a conduit of times past,

a conduit into the mind of another.

The ink dries as the pen presses further down the page, eager to create a world—a life yet to be lived.

The once meaningless, transient fluid becoming an unchanging solid,

a voice,

enveloping the reader in another’s thoughts,

a portal into one’s darkest desires, one’s deepest secrets, one’s happiest moments, and one’s most wonderful fantasy.  

I am a notebook and I am the most powerful thing in the world.

I am an idea.

I am a story.

I am hope and happiness and sadness and loss.

I am beautiful.

I am the culmination of thousands of years of human exploration,

the zenith of all knowledge ever amassed, an incarnate of consciousness, every book ever read, every event ever witnessed, every story ever told;

all members of the pen’s consciousness,

all words in the story I have to tell.

Billions of lives are condensed into the thoughts written within me, traveling through the pen, their accomplishments, stories, and ideas changed and interpreted but none-the-less, traveling. Immortal.

Accomplishments unquantifiable,

the beauty of the innate human desire to explore, to advance, to learn,

colored perfectly in ink.

The words flow onto my pages,

they’re not well chosen,

they’re not even good words,

but they are words

and words are beautiful.

Words are stories waiting to be written,

stories waiting to be read,

stories waiting to live in the mind of another.

This is a story,

and this,

this is only the beginning.

Pages are colored,

stories are written,

revised,

torn to shreds in fits of insatiable impatience,

but the pen continues to create.

Entire worlds are created and destroyed in beautiful dashes of ink.

My pages are filled,

emptied,

refilled.

But the pen continues.

The pen will always continue.

Day after day,

life created and refined.

Worlds begin to form, not in dirty, pixilated, incongruent paradigms of reality, but in spectacular explosions of light and color, visualizing in one’s mind.

Life becomes not a clunky, robotic semblance of true human complexity, but a play; conversations and thoughts, emotions and decisions catalogued, as magnificent as the life from which they spring.

I become an addiction;

from the petty beginning, to a part of life,

an exquisite joy released as the hand discovers the wonder of creation.

I become a friend, a companion with which to share the trials, hardships, and joys of life.

And it makes me stronger.

The pen trusts me, and trust brings new adventures, words written in confidence, conversations that bring the pen closer to a true representation of inexplicable elegance of humanity.

I lead the pen to growth, to self-exploration, to confidence, to a shift.

No longer does the pen hide me away for fear of judgment, but shares me, anxious for comment.

My pages begin to share the ink of others as they’re torn out, not in anger but in pride.

I am read,

re-read,

and read again,

I affect others’ thoughts and ideas and lives.

I am alive.

More and more,

I am alive.

I am what has been

and what will be.

Nothing is forgotten but everything must end;

this world:

happiness, sadness,

joy and sorrow,

love and heartbreak.

Life and death.

But I am so much more than life.

I am a story.

My words are eternal.

My words will never die.

What is written here will live on forever;

a single neuron in the human consciousness.

My pages will fade,

yellow,

turn to dust and ashes.

But I am so much more than this.

I am an idea.

I am every idea and I will forever be.

I am a story.

Every life ever lived shares the words inked beneath my cover,

everything that ever has,

everything that ever will

everything.

And it is wonderful.

It is beautiful and loving,

heart-wrenching and awe-inspiring.

It is magnificent.

I am magnificent.

I will tear your heart in two and make you scream with joy.

I will push you to the brink and pull you over.

You and I,

we will travel the universe and see the things of dreams.

I will carry you through the darkest valley and over the brightest mountain,

through the most awful galaxy and past the hottest star.

I will take you into the mind of another.

And it will be amazing.