You see, I\'ve been stuck on this page for months now
An old story Featuring an old me
I couldn\'t stop re-reading how the part before began with us and ended with me
Every word I wrote, typed... Deleted a thousand times
Was the same old character, same dialogue
Started to lose sense, always in the past tense
I became the narrator of a story that no one would read
It was time for me to cut out thinking about what the story \'needs\'
what does it mean when your illustration is based on a depiction of
Winning a loser\'s game with a cheat?
I decided to leave the book alone, to cure my writer\'s block by saying goodbye
I held myself through every cry and every try
I had to understand that the words were all a lie
And in that instance, like the day, turns into night
I knew that a new story can only be written through new eyes
Ideas, words, a new metaphor or rhyme.
I counted down from ten, back too nine-
blinked from closed eyes to a new year and a new guy.
Just like my favorite bike - I was rusty, but I\'d been waiting for so long to be taken outside
He presented me a new one, took the old one apart and promised hand on his heart \'I\'ll never leave you behind\'
Reminded me of the first time I was left to balance on my own, both sides (without stabilizers)
One pedal and I felt like I could fly... I remember my mother telling me \'don\'t go too fast, give it some time\'.
Despite feeling rusty, I brushed myself off, despite the risk of falling again (just too cry),
I found that the more times I fell down the grass was always greener on the other side
That holding on too new handles, following a new guide, didn\'t scare me in my mind
Knowing that either way, I and he can teach ourselves how you\'re supposed to ride
And realizing sometimes all you need is change
And maybe just to turn the page