Entrée

being left
closed minded people
rebuilt houses & lives
why people can't walk at a reasonable pace
the end
Santiago de Compostela
"Chicago"
love
Taffy the stuffed dog (then), necklace & key (now)
change

She'd spent her whole life avoiding change at all costs. Same routine. Day in. Day out. 6:30 wake up. Run 5.6 miles, then in the shower by 7:15. The library would be graced with her appearance soon after. Head down, laboring studiously, until 9 when classes began. At 1:07, lunch at the corner cafe - same table, same chair, same position. Same faces each day - passing her by in a blur.

Yet change was inevitable. And she resented that. Change was the enemy. But everyone succumbed eventually - death itself was the greatest change of all. Days, weeks, years trudged on. Everything around her evolved, yet she remained fixed. But the core of mans' spirit comes from new experiences. It was inevitable that she would break away. And when she did, she would do it with characteristic immoderation.

. . .

She stared ahead, her emerald green eyes distorted by the spider's web of cracks that defined the mirror in front of her. Her fingers clutched the edge of the sink. Her gaze fell onto the metal object, sharp edge glimmering beneath the florescent lights. Slowly, hands shaking, she gathered her long auburn curls. Her fingers fumbled on the slick sink for the blade. Resolute determination steadied her hand as she felled curls, fallen soldiers littering the battlefield. She disposed of the deceased with a solemn finality.

As she swung her pack onto her back, she reread the words inscribed into the tile above the door way - "Entrée". New day. New year. New city. New country. New her. This was the beginning. The beginning of her journey, her pilgrimage. The beginning of the path, the way. The beginning of change.