have i or haven't i

I wrote her a letter.

Didn't give it to her though.

I probably never will.

She reads too much anyway.

People read.  People write.

In that order.

Why is that?

Which came first?

What are circumstances so much that the words some poor soul poured out at some point in time make their way in front of my eyes so I may glimpse into the essence of another suffering the same condition as I?

The odds that I, Thomas Fitch, read what I read are immeasurable.  World renowned authors have written countless books that I haven't and never will even touch.  Billions wont touch.  But somehow I read a book this morning.  Somehow the stars aligned and God gave his blessing that the words of another human being may be passed onto me.  It boggles my mind.

I'm writing a blog.

Haven't posted it yet.

I probably never will.

No one reads blogs anyway.

life's journey

I began this journey alone

Strolling down life's path

Things appeared new, interesting...scary

Abundant.

I learned

To be comfortable in my journey

To be trust in myself

In my instincts.

But then I met another

Also on a journey

For a moment we walked together

Sharing what we had learned.

I smiled

Neither of us knew where we were going

Only a general direction

A direction we both partook.

Enjoying the company I got lazy

Lost

I forgot who I was

Which direction I was headed.

I stumbled

There were things in the road I didn't notice

Again

Many unforeseen obstacles emerged in my path.

It became more and more difficult to share this route

There was only room for one

We held on a moment longer

Savoring what we knew could not last.

I stopped

Looked around

I had wandered off coarse

Our journeys no longer coincided.

So we part ways

Each a little smarter

Each a little hurt

And a lot more determined.

I continue this journey alone.

morning walk

It's 9am and I'm hungry.

God decided the day was best dressed in a metallic grey ensemble accented by plunging gemstones

An interesting choice considering subtle pallets were so last season

Not wanting to argue fashion with the creator, I don a vogue proof jacket and begin my journey

Barefoot.

Festivities of the evening prior still hold leverage over my activities

I walk slowly as each quick movement grates my

Fever

My soles find the wet pavement invigorating

Like Mr. Miyagi, it encourages my damp feet to pick up their pace.

The fever shrinks as what seemed to only be a dollhouse a moment ago grows quickly into a lavish hotel

Has that always been there, I wonder

With no time for idle thoughts the voice of Mr. Miyagi swells with strain as

My stomach joins in his chorus.

Food.

FOOD.

I reach a corner and look right

Victory stares right back

As I size up my destination a bird chirps from across the street telling me to come.

My stomach commandeers my character and I run

Run

RUN.

As I approach salvation God, in true fashion queen status, impulsively corrects the outfit of the day

A beam of light guides me to the door and I open it

Consumed by satisfaction.