I have stories. They are written on my skin in creases and lines, tattoos and scars. My body helps me remember and won’t allow me to forget.
I have a birthday. It marks, today, an odd number of years I have spent on this earth. I am aging. It is a gift.
I have an ancient spirit and an elfin smile. I am mischief and widsom, sparkle and depth. I am older than the past and younger than the future. I am timeless.
I have an agile mind and arthritic limbs; life is, after all, nothing if not an exercise in balance.
I have a steel spine and a silken soul. Formidable softness and threaded strength. Test me at your own risk.
I have a voice.
I have music.
I have dreams.
I have nightmares.
Some Most of them are real.
I have words. Try as I might, I don’t always use them wisely. It is this failing in myself that makes it difficult for me to forgive this fault in others.
I have flaws.
I have a mouth made for kissing.
I have weight. I do not throw it around, and I pull my own.
I have hair. It is not as thick as it once was. But it is long and soft and, like my heart, it is unruly. I am not afraid to let it down once in a while.
I have fun.
I have a depth of humor that comes from a breadth of experience. Sarcasm does not amuse me. It is bred of pain and contempt. There is too much of both in the world, and I have had my fill.
I have joy.
I have sorrow.
I have responsibilities. I take them seriously.
I have a past. I do not dwell there.
I have a house.
I have a home that is not defined by the four walls within which I live.
I have a full cupboard yet I have hungers that will never be satisfied. I am insatiable. Thirsty. Knowledge is a craving; sex is sustenance.
I have a voracious appetite for life. Feast with me. Tell me your stories.
I have stories.
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This is my 499th post on this blog. The albatross of 500 hangs heavily around my neck. It shouldn’t be A Thing. Especially since traditional milestones are something I typically care very little about. But for some reason it is. Perhaps I am wondering what I am (still) doing here (after all this time).
But when I started writing, I realized…
I have a great many things. Intangible and precious and not easily identified or defined. Thus, the birth of “I have stories…”
If I were to add anything to what is written above, it would be this:
I have faith.
I have love.
And I have the freedom to practice both in the manner I choose.
I make it a point to always remember that.
What do you have?