I wouldn’t even pick up a book like this, yet sometimes I find myself right in the middle of this dull boring story. And every time I have to remind myself that I’m not only its protagonist. I’m it’s author. Not the publisher. Not the reader. The writer. The one, who day after day creates this story called My Life. And while factors beyond my control may prevent me from writing it, when do I write, I am in charge. And this story that I create line by line, page by page will be only legacy. And I wish so much I could erase some pages — or even chapters — but alas, they are written in stone.
But at least I can make the coming pages better. After all, if I don’t make them better, no one ever will. This is my story.