Life is not determined by the number of journeys we take, the steps we make, the treks we conquer. Life is not determined by the number of breaths we take, but the number of moments that take our breath away.
We will start at one.
At age nineteen he moved. His life unfulfilled, his heart yearning more than what this quaint city could offer. Looking for a home he headed out east- far east. His steps burned holes in the earth as he saw fields that grew green in abundance of quest, trees that stood tall foreseeing wonder, mountains that preached dreams, bridges that whispered journeys, towers that bellowed tales, paintings brushed of gold. He met old men weary of hurt, young women blinded by bliss. He met content couples, smiling singles. He met travelers. He would chat in coffee shops, sing in bars, he would meet then leave nothing every permanent. Being so fortunate and grateful to witness all this beauty, all this fame, tradition and wealth yet he still knew there was something missing- something more. Days passed, weeks passed, a year passed and somewhere along the way he got lost in the maze of his mind- and so did she.
They became confused, lost, obsolete.
"A story untold could be the one that kills you." ~Pat Conroy
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