Ideas for Stories as Seen Through My Eyes

 One

 

 

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Painting with my eyes,

what I see in that moment.

My fingers feel soft and fresh,

As I rub small pine cone

from beloved grandmom.

 

The air is steeped in the fragrance

and memory.

It`s a day that passes like this.

 

The cupboard opened a wooden, painted, forgotten drawer,

in which a beautiful story had long been resting,

a story that wanted to be read aloud

to a little one who couldn’t fall asleep that night.

It begins like this:

 

Come sit here, little one, close enough that I can smell your hair, hm mm.

Do you see these hands? They look old now, but they used to be small, like yours, always reaching out, always curious about the world.

I’ve learned that life is a bit like a long walk, with surprises lurking around every corner. Sometimes the sun warms your back and you laugh for no reason. Other times the wind blows with all its might and you have to lean forward just to keep going. But even then, you keep walking—and that’s what matters.

I’ve loved many things in my life. I’ve loved the people who stayed, and those who couldn’t. I’ve loved the gardens that grew slowly, and the meals that tasted best because we shared them. I’ve loved the mornings when the house was noisy, and the evenings when silence reigned once more.

When I was young, I thought life was about doing everything right. Now I know it’s about picking yourself up, apologising, laughing often, and loving with all you might, even when you’re tired.

And you—oh, you’re already doing that.

Every time you ask a question.

Every time you forgive quickly.

Every time you smile at someone who looks lonely.

You are already learning the most important parts.

So remember this, my dear: Life doesn’t ask you to be perfect.
It asks you to be kind, to be curious, and to keep your heart open.

And if you ever feel unsure, come back and sit with me again.
There is always enough love here.

 

 

 

 

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