Cool Ghouls Book Club

It all begins with knowing
nothing lasts forever,
so you might as well start packing now.
In the meantime,
practice being alive.

This post has been setting in my drafts folder for two years. When I first heard this poem, I cried. I still tear up every time I revisit it. It’s not that it’s sad. The poet put into words things I’d long felt. It’s his soft voice delivering those words. It’s the very last bit that really gets me. I’ve never felt I was an interesting conversation, and listening to a kind soul speak those words to me made me uncomfortable in a wonderful sort of way.

My decision to finally finish this post came right after choosing a new visual theme for the blog. The new theme requires me to go back and add a feature photo to each post. I did a few and then distracted myself by going through my embarrassingly long list of drafts, deleting some that I knew I’d never get to, and reading the ones I hope to complete soon. There are some that will never see the light of day.

I am not a poet nor am I particularly good at literary analysis. I write what I feel, and that may have little value to anyone who knows more about these things than I do. But if my words inspire someone to take a chance on something that moved me, then it’s worth shouting into the void.