Maybe her life is more like a twitter and not a blog or a book

 

She finds the idea somewhere in the web.

Right in time when she is depressed by a New year's soon premiere.

She doesn't know how she's supposed to write a new chapter.

She doesn't think she's got a book to write in.

Or at least a blog.

Her life is a mess no matter how many times she's tried to draw an essential line, to figure out all the ways and destinations.

She just lives, smiles, falls and dances and feels.

No plot, no real heroes, no andventuries and no cliffs.

Just her and her feelings and her everyday needs.

So the idea haunts her.

The only thing she has to do is to find a jar and to write everyday's joys as a letters to it.

That's how she'd know what her life really consists of.

And maybe would get a clue how to figure it out.

So she does.

Everyday she writes something that amazed her, that gave her smile.

She writes all the achievements, even the smaller ones.

The compliments and the whole-hearted thank you's.

Great books and beautiful music.

Melodic poetry and long conversations with friends and parents.

She sees how her jar is getting fuller day by day.

She enjoys the feeling when she writes a couple of words and puts in the jar.

She collect her days.

She doesn't feel useless or unhappy.

And gets herself finally.

Maybe her life is more like a twitter and not a blog or a book.

The jar of the lifetime full with the small moments.