We are enjoying our March Break at my parents house this week.
We are busy having all the fun.

Thus, I will not be participating in all my favourite memes/hops this week -- aside from my own Coffee Chat that was postponed last week.  (topic is:  The Secret of Passion: How does one find their passion?)

However, in case you did come to visit me, I didn't want empty pages to greet you.
And I beg a bit of patience from you this week, as computer time may be few and far between.
I will get to visit all of you eventually. 

So.....remember that journal writing I've had tucked away for some time?

This is where I call it out of the darkness, and into the lightness of being.

The journey begins

my image

The landscape blurs past.

A smudged view of towers, abandoned buildings, and crossings interspersed with living green. Nothing is familiar - yet memories are stirring;  and I am suddenly aware that life can pass by as quickly as the view from a trains' window seat.

My hometown on the horizon.
These very tracks that will eventually splinter and lead straight past the school of my youth, and the home that lay nestled cozy and warm; despite certainly being built on the wrong side of those tracks.

I recall very little from the moments I've spent here; yet - something lingers.
Much like the swiftly passing trees, it is nothing that I can grasp, or hold.

Yet still ...HE lingers.

And I wonder; how can someone, who so quickly came and went; still leave such a mark?

Their fleeting and unremarkable presence a tattooed scar upon otherwise flawless memories.

That scar is so old, so firmly set; it no longer stretches and breaks open anew.   Even when thoughts betray with no whistled warning of their approach.   It amazes me one can become so comfortable in their skin.  So much so, that a blemish that won't fade, becomes as familiar as that which defines our beauty.   Just another landmark on the map of life.   A welcome sign that tells me: this is the way home.

This is what you know.

I imagine your own road bears it's landmarks and signs; few of which will match mine.   But I bet some do.  And as the train bumps on down the line, the questions come just as fast; the answers just as blurred.

Will what is yours, and what is mine, and that invisible thread that binds us, one day lead to The Crossroads?
Would you wait for me?
Would I wait for you?
Would I see my own lines reflected back, in your own crack'd mirror?
Is it crazy to waste time thinking of someone, who has not likely spared a moment of thought of you?

What is time, when more than just miles of emptiness, lay stretched between we two?

Crossroads

The window glass is cool upon my temple as the miles slip quickly past.
My thoughts bounce up and down, up and down.... until, like a yo-yo that has played out its string too far, I simply hang there.
Suspended.
Waiting for the hand that can wind me up, and make me whole again.

All of the sights of the hill and the plain
Fly as thick as driving rain;
And ever again, in the wink of an eye,
Painted stations whistle by.
Here is a child who clambers and scrambles,
All by himself and gathering brambles;
"From A Railway Carriage" - Robert Louis Stevenson

As I ramble on through those brambles.... the story will continue to bleed its way out from those bound covers.
  
About The Author
Leslie Botchar, aka "RoryBore", is a SAHM enjoying life one day - and one cup of coffee - at at time.
She has had several articles published in The Huffington Post, and hopes to one day marry her skills as Word Wrangler and Photo Ninja. Leslie spills it all on her blog Time Out For Mom, and invites you to join her for some Mom "Me" Time.
Connect with her: Twitter, Facebook, or Instagram.