---
title: "Choosing a Story"
date: 2025-04-30T21:48:38-05:00
tags:
  - writing
image:
comments: true
---
This is a double header today...

# The Story
I held onto my many stories, closely, there was no one that could come close to them. The hidden depths of those books goes deep into the nerves of my heart. Those stories had been rewritten thrice over, and had more thought put into them more than the many decisions I made throughout my life. I found myself weeping in the mist of the candlelight, as the words seemingly changed and shifted under the gloomy light.  
The book pulled out of the oak drawer was blank. The book had the same brownish tint as the rest, with the same wrinkles. I had looked upon this book again, after so many years. The books all looked so similar, even having the same title. However, there was at least one thing that separated them. I found myself darting my eyes back to the blank wrinkly book, and starting with a list. I wrote five ideas. I moved my eyes back to the other books, and erased two of the ideas.

There was a shift on the table, the books bouncing on top of the tabletop, the light shattered. Each individual book opened, there were at-least twenty on the ground by this point. I found myself looking at each one, and passionately flipping through each one. The hours continued to pass by, and I had only read half of them. There was one that lurked in the back, of which I had not seen before. This one looked ancient, it looked to be written in my teenage years. I read through it content on finishing it. As the dark summer light of the candle shimmered in the dark, I continued to read through the book. There was no title to this book. It had captured my full attention for hours, as I read through the ruins of this book, I found brightness radiating out of it.

I moved myself away from my chair, and fought to a slumber. I awoke next day, and found myself back to that same book. I started work on the idea I had selected overnight, and it had become a deeply woven art piece.  It sat in limbo for many days, I had changed the piece  night after night. 
I sat there for hours, going over that story. I meretriciously examined each word. There was a deep pit that started to fill my stomach. This hole too empty to fill with stories, lingered there for even longer than I continued to write. The hole shifted and moved, even closing itself. The whole always returned, though. It never ended as I rode to an untimely slumber. 

There was an idea that probed at my mind thrice over, it had to be done. The light reflected off the window, and I had started writing for the thousandth time. There was no way to stop it now.  It had to be perfect , but the story got thrown away once again. There was one last idea on the board, and I started on it, writing tirelessly overnight. The light reflected my glasses, as I neared the middle,  the reclusiveness of my room nagged my stomach,  after finishing the last word, I let my head sink onto the book.



So erm, yeah that's it for today folks, hope you enjoyed this today
