Only reader

I watched a movie a while ago, (5 to 7-- it was actually quite good so I recommend it) and a specific line kind of stood out.

"Your favourite story, whatever it might be, was written for only one reader"

That line stuck to me because I got to thinking how many romance novels I read growing up, how many stories I have written myself, and how many of these blog posts were typed up the way they were to appeal to someone specifically.

I notice now how careful I am with choice of words and what I disclose because while many of my posts are kept to a specific topic, the topic usually generates internally and from personal experience. It is so easy for me to express myself through words. To say what I mean and be perfectly eloquent in the way that I say it.

While I digress, I want to think about this.

Every romance novel you once may have read, was to some extent, a product of the writer's reality or personal experience. Think about the heartache you may have read about that made your own heart shatter. Think about the passion you lived and breathed through with every page of the book. These were all words written for, or in memory of someone. How insane is that?

You are my reader. I have the power to shape your emotions through my words. You read this and wonder what is next to come. With every sentence, I bring you closer to something that I want you to know. It might come to you by surprise, or I might keep you waiting to read what I ultimately want you to know. But you will only read it when it is time.

You are the reader I wrote this for and this is so powerful.

A summer of love

Three years ago I took a pretty eventful trip. One that enriched my knowledge of myself, the world, and people. I took off for two and a half months, by myself, with the goal of getting inspired and growing beyond what I had known up to that point in my existence. At that point in my life I was in limbo. I had finished a degree and had applied for another but with no certainty of getting in. I left in the hopes that by the time I got back, I would know what to do in regards to my life to come.

The trip was unbelievable. I learned, I laughed, and most of all, I fell in love.

Ahhh and it was a crazy sort of love.

I fell in love with my life, the sights, and yes of course, I liked a boy as well.

Up until that point in my life I had been lost to some extent. I grew up in Europe, but moved to North America when I was twelve and never returned to my roots. I was young when I left, and as such, I had little knowledge of the world around me. I was not sufficiently educated on my country, its politics, or accompanying culture. I decided that once I got my degree, I would be mature enough to return and form an opinion of my own of the place where I was born and grew up in.

And so I took off, on my own, for two and a half months.

I first went to a city, somewhere in Europe, where I was meeting someone. Him.

He had been an old classmate from back home who was pursuing an education elsewhere in Europe. We had been in touch for about five months, discussing this trip and falling for each other. He was everything I had longed for. A guy with the same background as myself, with plans for the future, and an unbeatable charm. I was so excited to finally see him again after ten years.

We met up in one of Europe's most popular cities.

He looked me in the eyes upon the first hangout and swore he had never seen more captivating eyes. He was tall with a gorgeous smile. Big hands that found themselves interlocking mine within the first five minutes.

It was like we were two lovers who had been together for years and the spark never left.

The reality was that this was my first time seeing him in ten years. He could have been a total creep for all I knew. But he was so mesmerizing I took my chances.

He introduced me to the city, walking around with me pointing at all the different buildings and their history. He was soft spoken and well informed. I was trying to take him all in. The voice, the walk, the talk, the words, the smile, the grip of his hands. I felt as if this was cloud nine and I was finally on top of the world.

We spent a really nice day together

We talked, we ate, we danced, we loved.

We fell asleep in each other's arms.

I had never felt more full in my entire life. Full of life, full of happiness, full of adrenaline and full of love.

A lot happened since.

Three years have passed.

I still look at the pictures and feel exactly what I felt in that moment.

With him.

Lost in time.

The Importance of the Present

I feel like we all have a broad understanding of the present and what it entails. I mean there really is not any time like it and it is weird when you lose that time because you cannot ever re-create it. I have recently noticed that it is increasingly hard to concentrate my full attention towards an aspect of the present, because I am continuously thinking about things concerning my future.

The ever most upsetting part of it is that while the present should be fully savoured, the actions or words being said in that moment are not fully appreciated. How do I know this?

Think about it. Think about a conversation you had maybe even an hour ago. While you remember the essentials, you do not remember every word that came out of your mouth and the persons you were talking to. You remember parts of the conversation, but not every move of the body, or every facial expression. Why?

Because in the moment, you are only concerned with a reaction. You are not fully taking in the conversation, the person you are conversing with, their body language or emotions shown. And that is so important.

When we think about the future, we are so concerned with the path to getting there, the end product and the steps necessary to bring us to that path. We forget to worry about what the present has in store for us. We worry about reaching the end of the path and forget to look around and take in our surroundings.

The present is so important, I only wish to learn to appreciate it more.