So, where was I
in my life story?
I left.
That was not the end
but the beginning.
I could write scenes,
of a naïve young woman
taken for a joy ride through half her life
or
how she survived
because of those who loved her
even though she left.
It could be fiction with names changed
to protect the guilty,
biographical fiction
where only I know the real parts,
true, honest, factual –
a life sliced up for the feasting.
or
it could all be filed away neatly
in brown file folders
crammed into cabinet drawers
that contain
all of me,
the unabridged,
unimagined
truth.
That’s where I am
in my life story,
and where I’ll stay
but for the bits
I dare to share
one at a time
with those who care
enough
to see the me
that is still all there.
©2006 Sharron R. McMillan
hernibs 