"How will it be
told, this evidence, our life, all the clues missing?"
Jorie Graham
Life is a story.
You have a narrative.
Life is a story. Every second a letter. Every minute forms a sentence, each hour a paragraph. Every day a chapter is closed. And it begins again. Relentless until time runs out. Fashioned from 26 letters.
This is your story.
Whether you wish to tell this story is irrelevant.
Others might but that, too, is basically irrelevant.
What is relevant is that every second of every hour each day is your story.
Then memory orders the words, makes metaphors and draws comparisons, adds the commas and the colons, the parentheses and the dashes and hyphens, the exclamation and questions marks, the apostrophes and abbreviations, the italics and underlining, and periods and pilcrows, the chapter headings and subheadings, the footnotes and indices. The corrections.
This is your narrative.
Whether you wish to tell this story is irrelevant.
Others might but that, too, is basically irrelevant.
What is relevant is that every second of every hour each day is your story.
Then memory orders the words, makes metaphors and draws comparisons, adds the commas and the colons, the parentheses and the dashes and hyphens, the exclamation and questions marks, the apostrophes and abbreviations, the italics and underlining, and periods and pilcrows, the chapter headings and subheadings, the footnotes and indices. The corrections.
This is your narrative.
Donald Paul