• Red leaves on a large tree
    Short Stories

    To the Ones I Used to Know

    Most of you are alive, but to me, you only continue to exist on the page. Specifically, the pages of my blog.

    The structured black words on my blog have memorialized most of you, so if you ever forget about those times we stayed up too late, got in trouble, kissed, or argued, you can probably find those memories here. They did happen, I promise. I was there and I wrote about them.

    I’m not saying this because I’m trying to prove something to you. I don’t need to prove anything. Believe me or not, the evidence that we associated at all is here. It’s just a little unsettling sometimes.

    My writings are all I need to be flung back into the past when we sat next to each other at dinner, slept next to each other in bed, or were even in the same room together. Every time I read my old writings, it’s like watching a movie I hadn’t seen in years. I know how it ends, but I forgot the journey to the ending.

    But then again, that is why I maintain a blog: I write about the journey so I don’t forget.

    Most of you that I’ve journeyed with are gone from my life, yet your impact is undeniably relevant even to this day. Your impact lives in my words on the page.

    Thank you for sharing some of your time with me.

    xx Vic

  • Short Stories,  Speaking My Mind

    On The Brink

    The wind whips my hair back as I gaze at everything below me.  From my nearly aerial view, I can observe all my accomplishments, my struggles, and my failures.  In the past, some of those struggles and failures seemed daunting, but I’ve somehow found the strength within me to overcome them and to get where I am now.

    I stand on the brink of what was and what will be…I’m able to see my past clearly now but the road ahead remains foggy.  I only took one bag from my past with me, and it’s relatively heavy since some of my previous struggles continue to burden me…but maybe once I continue my climb, up high into the future, I’ll be able to get rid of them.  My bag is not just heavy with burdensome things, it’s also brimming with relationships and memories that I grip onto in order to remember my roots and keep me grounded as I conquer my future.

    The brink is a scary place to be…it’s so easy to just fall off of the rocky cliff and back into familiarity…but familiarity can’t ever be the same because naturally everything changes.  Conversely to falling, climbing is difficult because it’s physically and mentally exhausting…your footing may slip on the crumbling rocks as you scale the unpaved path in order to find your destiny…but when you make it to the top, or to the next brink, it’s quite rewarding.

    I pick up a pebble that’s by my foot and toss it into my past below me…I can’t see or hear it land because I’m too high up, and I’m determined to climb higher.

    Maybe I’ll visit soon…use my parachute and float back to familiarity…but it’ll only be a short visit.  I have goals to accomplish.

    © 2014 Vic Romero

    **image from Google

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