Two Thousand And Fourteen
Each one of these 365 pages is stained with life, whether it be deadened and meagre, or soulful and spirited, life exists on every single page. Life exists in the shallow breaths as you fall captive to your dreams, in the tears of joy and despair crawling their way down your face like two children in an egg and spoon race. Life exists everywhere: colliding on every single one of these 365 pages, filling up every single bit of white space and settling amongst the present moment. Life, in the vast forms that it appears in, remains theoretically the same: the same living and breathing shell, the shell encapsulating the living mind and thoughts of your spirit: life.
And to be here, reading these words entwined with my own life, is the epitome of life itself. You are here, reading these words and living! Living! Living to the potential you see fit. Whether the past 365 pages have been full of excitement and love, or loss and heavy tears- one mundane fact binds us all: despite our circumstances, we are living.
And so, as you finish this last page off in this 365 page novel, and prepare to open up a new book, a new year, and start afresh, on the first blank page of a blank novel consisting of 365 blank pages, ask yourself: what is life, and is mine fulfilling it's worldly potential?
Happy New Year everybody. Let's make it a good'un.