If I was to read

a book describing

the first ten years

of my life

I would have put it down

after the first chapter.

It would be plotless;

lifeless;

boring.

But if I was to read

a sequel

about what occurred

after that point,

I wouldn’t be able

to stop.

but then I find

that so soon in this decade

the author suffered

from writer’s block

and every letter

was printed as I read.

I couldn’t skip

to the next page

or scan when I got bored.

Occasionally,

there would be a burst.

A paragraph of emotions

or sometimes even a page...

Not that it is

drab, dry, or dreary

for those don’t describe it well.

But I am a fast reader

and sometimes I forget

that in order to have a story –

I have to live my life.

And in order to live my life

I know I should

put the book down

and get on

with what

I want to do.