page one is always the most exciting and terrifying to mar with the ink of my impetuous hand. within these first crisp, white blank spaces before me, at the head of so many blank pages, so much unmarked terrain,
i pause.
what, dear reader, do you wish to hear tell? what portion of knowledge, what mode of perception can i ascribe to you in the telling of a tale - my tale?
my filled notebooks have, at times, satisfied their purpose as a mirror of my thoughts at many specific moments. they carried my secrets, those unfrequented ruminations that belonged only to me. absent from all exteriors were the confidantes to whom i mouthed the secrets that would have a cynic dropping his pretenses in a need to know more, an intrigue that cannot be stifled. i carefully spun my string of austerity behind the closed doors of my worlds.
i hold that secrets should be kept. yet, i also hold that they should be probed, examined and, as these soon-to-be-filled web pages will denote, articulated.
and so. this, this portion of my words is going above ground, to be exposed to the light and oil of third-party fingerprints, as i relate to none but my readers, all my secrets.
here i confess with a lowered voice and quivering lips all i dare not whisper aloud.
lean your ear closer, reader, and i will tell you all.
© 2008 by Rachel Lowry. All rights reserved.
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