It is never too late to be what you would have been.
Those words are written in my motto. I think of them often, every time I click to see if I've gained any
XP. I stole it, though.
It isn't really mine.
I sat only a few feet from him, his cubicle could hardly hold himself let alone the two of us.
We were so close and yet I felt so far. Too far away, not touching him in any way except for when he gently nudged my leg with his playfully now and then. He was
rummaging through my purse, and still now I have no idea why. But I didn't mind it. He knew everything about me, I thought-- the pasts I will never repeat, the feelings that keep me up
in the middle of the night.
He knew me better than I even knew myself, I sometimes thought.
He found my little notebook.
The notebook I carry around with me, to jot down a random thought, to observe people with, to just write what was going on. He didn't read the pages but flipped to an empty one and brought out his pen. Scribbling on it for a while, I tried to peer over his shoulder, but
he wouldn't let me see until he was done.
On the page he wrote:
It is never too late to be what you would have been.
I don't know why he wrote it. Whether it was his own thought or whether he was giving it to me, but
it fit so perfectly within my life. It rang so true. He knew that I had struggled, he knew that
I'm always struggling with myself. I gave up on my dreams and have only recently tried to get them back, and he knew this. And he was right.
I stopped writing in that notebook, not wanting to change it in any way, and keep it tucked away in my desk drawer. Even though I've seen it countless times, now and again when
I need some support, or when I think those dreams are so out of reach, or I feel lost again, I flip open to that page and read the words. And I know that I can go on another day, hopeful.