A Vintage Print

What if we rewrite the stars? What if we stay up all night thinking about every bad thing and every mistake that we did and turn the needle on it? We’ll reconstruct our lives with everything we wanted to go right and the wrongs will sit in the corner. We’ll build up empires of good news and the taunts would cry like we did. We’ll write the best parts of us, the confident ones, the smiling ones and the open ones. Maybe we’ll even throw in a few happy days and pretend that it’s the real world. We’ll pretend that this world was on the other side of the galaxy and we were never meant to cross it.  What if that’s how our world should be? What if we built this ‘real’ world up so we wouldn’t wish for the other one? I’m not going to the other side of the galaxy just so we can regret it. I have had enough regret anyway.

 Inside the room of my house that stands on the end of the street lies a notebook. The notebook contains all stories.  The stories I ended up writing in there because I couldn't hold them in any longer. The stories that dripped through my eyes on the blank pages The stories that I intended to leave in the back of my mind. And the stories that pushed too hard on the wall that I built to protect them. They didn't want to be protected. They needed to escape. I take the notebook everywhere I go because nothing can make up for the loss of words into the air. You can't hear them again nor recall them and nor take them back once you've said them  I put those words into the notebook and remember the last time I did it. I had felt a rock rise slowly from my head and land on the notebook so no one else would read it.  The cover of the notebook is brown with a single candle on the lower right corner. The candle is unlit and I have tried to light it up. I still do.  I spent f