Life's Journey Poems Novels & Stories

Because they do love me! I've been thinking a lot about life journeys lately. Looking back at mine and seeing how far I've come, remembering how difficult things were at times and how persistent I remained throughout. I've also been thinking about how each of us is on our own journey, weathering challenges and heartbreaks and celebrating accomplishments, each of us making our way, step by step, to follow our hearts. Everyone's journey is unique. Where we're headed. Our goals. Our detours. Life is this beautiful, magical, scary thing. Unpredictable, uncontrollable, but there are always recurring truths. Our own truths. Leading us onward.

I ask the question to which I wanted to know the answer for these two months again in her ear. O karam khudaya hai tera pyar jo paaya hai tujhpe marke hi toh mujhe jeena aaya hai O tere sang yaara khushrang bahara tu raat deewani main zard sitaara O tere sang yaara khushrang bahara main behta musafir tu Thehra kinara (With you, O beloved, the spring is colorful, I am the flowing passenger, and you are a silent shore.)

I may have lost all hope in life when my mates betrayed me, but I found hope again, and I’m looking forward to this journey. Life isn’t full of roses, but it’s up to us to make our beds with them. THE END

She started walking faster, building up speed but Jack gave her a warning, “Don’t burn yourself out too quickly, Jaimee, we still have a long way to go before sunset. Get plenty of fluids too. But you’re all doing great, let keep going a little further before we stop to eat lunch.” The wind was treacherous. Her nose felt like it might fall off even under the masked protection. By the time they stopped, 2 hours later, it felt like an eternity. Her lungs were burning and she was grateful to be resting. The group huddled together and got out their lunches. They talked about how they were feeling and the beauty of the mountain. Jaimee couldn’t deny the majestic scenery was amazing, but her thoug

The face of my father painted weeping appeared, leading to more twists in my heart. In the embrace of the inevitable, a peculiar serenity settled over me. The cacophony of life muted, and a profound acceptance washed over like a gentle tide. As the last breath lingered, I became a transient voyager, departing from the shores of the tangible into the vast expanse of the unknowable. Life, slipping away like grains of sand through the fingers of time, a testament to the transient beauty of existence….

The formation traveling. The companion thing reaching. The proof of possibility. The endurance. The third year. The roots deepening. The water still. Rising still. Always. The choosing continuing. Not because it was required. Because it was right. Because this was the life chosen. Every day. Every morning in the garden. Every morning at the table. Every letter sent. Every account filed. Every small drift named. Every plant tended. Every person received. The choosing. The commitment. The quiet fuel of the third year.

There were no words inside—just a single blade of wolfgrass, pressed flat and blackened with age. It reminded me of the moonlit forest, where I'd pledged my love to Leon when we were young. Under the ancient tree, we were just young wolves who had exchanged vows of lifelong love, enveloped in the pure moonlight and the scent of one another. Time passed since then, and what was lost could never be gained back. I held the withered blade in my palm. A sudden breeze through the car window caught it and blew it away. Kane and Sean leaned in close, huddling next to me.

‎ ‎In the laughter of children. ‎ ‎In the quiet of elders. ‎ ‎In the turning of seasons. ‎ ‎In the ordinary miracle of a life lived with open hands. ‎ ‎And it was enough. ‎ ‎For always.

Recognizing ally when I see one, even unlikely ally. Quote to remember: "We can choose to be alive instead of dutiful." I close the journal and look at the calendar on my wall. December 15th is circled in red. Twenty-four days until I can file for divorce. Twenty-four days until freedom. I've died once already. I can survive twenty-four more days. And then I'm going to build the life I should have had the first time. A life where I'm not a wife, daughter, sister, bank, or dumpster.

He froze, utterly at a loss for words. I spoke calmly, my voice steady and composed. "I've always been a rational person. When I'm hurt, I know when to walk away. I spent ten years of my youth standing by your side through everything—ten years of wounds and heartbreak. Don't you think I earned it?" Without waiting for his answer, I stepped off the stage and left. Let people say what they wanted—because in my eyes, a woman's youth deserved an equal exchange.