Forward

What if the next page were written instead of just recorded? The next page of life is blank, staring back at me and beckoning for an imprint. Yet, here I find myself staring at it, simply wondering what is appropriate for the next step. Is a large action required to move this story forward? Is a small conversation the spark that lights a persistent flame? How will I know what to put next when all I seem to write every day is my name? The next page stares back hauntingly; it dares me to take my pen and decide. Pick up the pen, sign - name and date. Simply recording events is life as of late. Or, I can decide what happens; choose my fate. Writing or recording - life has no preference. As long as I am breathing, the pages still flip forward.