A New Beginning

I've decided to start writing here on this lovely blog because it's what I do best. Writing. I don't claim competence in a lot of things, but writing - that I can do. Writing is my outlet. And I really, really need an outlet right now. An outlet that won't judge me, an outlet that won't abandon me, an outlet that won't betray me, or demand anything from me, and an outlet that won't lie to me.

Writing brings me peace. So, without further ado, I write.

Recently, I moved from America to Germany, and when your world is flipped 180 degrees, you just have to scream about it sometimes, and wonder what happened, and allow yourself to evaluate it.

The crazy thing is, my world wasn't flipped 180 degrees because I moved halfway across the world. Logically, one might assume this. "American moves to Europe - world-flipping ensues." It'd be a fair guess, but you'd be wrong.

As with all good stories, this one starts with a boy. (Well, if you're attracted to the fairer sex, I guess the good stories would start with a girl, but just go with me here on this one, yeah?)

As I said, this story starts with a boy.

Actually, you know what? To be honest, I don't have the time or inclination to start from the beginning. I'll talk about the beginning later. Maybe tomorrow.

This post is titled 'A NEW Beginning.'

So let's re-examine this: let's fast-forward.

That good story I was talking about? It ends with a boy, too. The same boy, in point of fact. But it ends with the boy saying goodbye. It ends with the boy leaving the story.

That wasn't the plan at all, in case you were wondering. The plan was to be with the boy in Germany. The plan was to discover our lives here, together. The plan was to revel in our time, in our experiences, and in each other. The plan was to play. The plan was to laugh. The plan was to enjoy the small things we shared. The plan was to make memories as a team, as a unit. The plan was to love, and be loved equally in return.

But the boy didn't feel the same. The boy was selfish, and destroyed things before they'd even had an opportunity to get started.

The boy bailed, even with every opportunity to stay. The boy has his own story now, and I'm not writing it.

I'm writing mine.

And I'm facing that new beginning I mentioned, alone.

I'm not sure how much of the writing I do here will be logical, well-ordered, or succinct. It may be emotional, it may be humorous, it may be painful, it may be bittersweet.

But no matter what, it will be honest. I can promise that.

And whatever happens now, I'm going to embrace it. Because even if it's not what I planned, it's still a beginning, and I would regret not making the most of it.

I've found that beginnings are often the most interesting part.