Dad is jeering. Mom is crying. Mind is cheering. Heart is dying. And I? . . encompass them all.
When I started my mashup, I didn't really know where it would lead. I just hoped that the meaning of love I had yet to discover for myself would magically appear in an assignment due in less than a week. I tried. . .and failed. And again, I tried. . .and failed. Yet it was only once I saw these failures for what they were that I truly was able to begin my mashup. They were not failures. They were steps that I needed to take in order to get to my final destination.
And my my final destination? In all honesty, it's a place that I don't find solace in. It's a place cold, dark and one I walk into praying that I'll soon leave. Love no longer holds meaning with me. It simply doesn't exist. I no longer can force myself to believe the lies. I refuse to believe that there is such a thing as a "soul mate" or a "prince charming".
The characters in my life will blame my change of heart on the villain. The readers will claim love was "stolen" and that they swear a happy ending is soon to come. But they're forgetting one simple thing--I am the narrator. I am responsible for adding in characters and writing them out of my story.
Yet as I'm writing, I'm realizing that there are chapters I want to leave out. I'm lucky enough to still hold the pen, but as I've learned with this mashup, the hand behind it all isn't always my own.
