A Heart Tied to a Book of Stone

It’s a heavy book; an intolerable burden to carry. Its cover is dark and thick, lined with sturdy leather. Its corners are boldly squared. It has an intimidating strength that raises anxiety and pulls my heart to the floor. The words inside claw and stab at me, trying desperately to pull me under and drown me in the ocean of memories plastered on the pale off-white pages. Old magazine clippings of photos and words flash like headlights in the dead of night, blinding me from all but what I can see in my memories. As I flip each page, the sound of naïve and hopeful chatter fights to block the screaming cries of a horribly misconstrued future. The bright rays of sun shining down to illuminate the two loving teenagers has violently transformed the love into hatred, like the never-resting progression of a cancer, spreading fast like poison ivy or influenza. With each page, each word, each letter, my grip tightens and my teeth grind against one another as I plead for the entries to end, but they continue, even after the pen has stopped. The story continues on in my mind and the cold, dark shadow; a shadow which has blocked out the light of hope for a bright future, takes hold of me once more, pulling me into the pages to be lost once again inside the nightmare that haunts me in my dreams all the same as while I lie awake at night, wishing I could simply tear the pages from the book and conjure a new story. Alas, I cannot. What is written is what will remain and while I fight for a new beginning, I cannot let go. It’s as if there is pure energy, an electric shock surging through the book, Taking hold of me, rendering me unable to release the tense, cramped muscles of my hands which grasp so tightly to the book. A book full of love is like water; A substance seeming so pure, one that sustains life and creates new, can fill your lungs in a second, take your breath away, and leave you dead as it pulls you straight to the bottom of the ocean.