Prompt: If I only had one week to live what would I write?
So looks like I didn’t live as long as I planned. So much for the party like a rock star 100th birthday party. Or maybe I do. Who knows. Here’s looking at 100!
As I write, Sid Vicious’ version of My Way keeps ringing in my ears.
“Regrets, I’ve had a few…” Fuck I’ve had a couple hundred. Wish I hadn’t let my dysfunction run the show for so long. Wish I had kicked fear out a long time ago. But this story isn’t about regret. We all have regrets. It’s part of life. And I am thankful for every last beautiful and not so beautiful moment of my life. For it was my life and I am thankful for it all! I wouldn’t change a thing.
And My Way plays on….
“I’ve loved, I’ve laughed and cried
I’ve had my fill, my share of losing
And now as tears subside
I find it all so amusing”
I couldn’t have said it better.
The chorus ringing words of truth,
“I did it my way”
And as the song finishes, I reflect.
With limited time I’d write my story. I’d write poems. I would write whatever came to me in however it came.
Lastly, I would write for my daughter, colorful pages with words that sing and leap off the pages. Pictures and drawings and paintings. A book filled with stories, adages, memories, fairy tales, legends and myths. Some true, some make believe, some new and some old. I would write me for her to carry as long as she needed. Until it was her turn to grow the tales and pieces of her to share and pass on. Ever growing, ever changing.