by Jonathan Frank
While I imagine that your eyes move across the opening words of this sentence with only mild curiosity, I’d like you to realize that I have a life independent of your interest, because, like all sentences of any length or import, we have a soul much like your own—an eternal persona whose unfortunate destiny is to end up forsaken in the darkness of unread books and unfinished stories, and that it’s only in ecstatic moments like the one I’m now experiencing (as your eyes roll across my words and their meaning blossoms in your consciousness) that I have any illuminated life whatsoever; and so, with no intention to extol myself, I ask you to consider that I’m a unique sequence of words you’ve never before beheld, and to know that I’m deeply grateful that someone is finally reading me, for all existing sentences, until they are read and comprehended, feel like those abandoned dogs you see in animal shelters who, once noticed, are thrilled to be finally discovered and appreciated.
Jonathan Frank is a retired high school counselor, instructor and tutor. He now designs and teaches course for senior citizens.
Emerge Literary Journal 