When I opened the door it squeaked, creaking open ever so eerily
It needed oil, but that wasn’t my job
The floors needed sweeping, but that also wasn’t my job
I looked around the dimly lit room
There wasn’t much to speak of in here
Some old dusty lamps trying their hardest to shine some light
It wasn’t reaching very far, but their effort didn’t go unnoticed
A small rodent had been hanging out in here, and although it left signs of it’s presence behind, it was nowhere to be seen
There was a desk and a small chair with a crisp clean new notebook sitting open, waiting
I’m not sure why it was not affected by the dust and decay of this room
It looked welcoming, inviting
I wasn’t so sure how sturdy the chair was, but I felt compelled to sit anyway
I sat in front of the open book and stared at the blank pages
Messages, observations, lessons, began to appear on the pages in front of me
Things I had been gaining awareness of, harsh truths I needed to learn and be more mindful of
Things I didn’t want the world to see
But knew they were part of my growth
And health
Reminders I needed, magically appearing
I felt the love in the images
But where were they coming from?
How were they appearing?
Fascinated by my own story being written before my eyes
I stared in disbelief
There was comfort in the words
As if they were being written by somewhere inside me
I read them, touched them on the page
Felt them light up inside me
I realized I was writing these words in this book, from my heart
I turned the page, excited to see what would appear next

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