Authors: Kimberly Novosel
LOVED
A Novel
Kimberly Novosel
*****
An
Inspivia, Incorporated
Company.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Inspivia Books
Memphis, Tennessee, 38114
books.inspivia.com
LOVED: A Novel
© Copyright 2012 by Inspivia Books.
Editor - M. Brock
Author Photograph – Tim Hiber
Cover Designer – Holley Maher of H. Maher Creative
Book Illustrator – Holley Maher of H. Maher Creative
All rights reversed. No part of this book can be used or reproduced, in part or in whole, by any means, by anyone, without written permission from Kimberly Novosel or Inspivia Books.
For permission to reproduce the information in this book for commercial purposes or redistribution, please e-mail:
To contact the author, Kimberly Novosel:
ISBN-10: 0984845925
ISBN-13: 978-0984845927
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Kimberly, Novosel
Loved/Kimberly—2012 Inspivia Books
This Inspivia Books Paperback Edition September 2012
Inspivia Books is a trademark of Inspivia, Inc.
Printed in the United States of America
For more information about this book and the author:
www.theoohlalalife.com
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CONTENTS:
| SO FAR |
| Three Throws for a Dollar |
| TICK TOCK |
| Ships in Her Eyes |
| World War Three |
| The Air On Fire |
| The Edge of Sanity |
| Tumbleweed |
| Love As A Cliff |
| An Attainable Future |
| He Was Trying |
| A Devil Named Denial |
| How To Be Single |
| Objects in Mirror |
| Guilty |
| Apartment Twelve |
| The Sky Has Good Intentions |
| Twenty-Seven |
To Heather, my anchor.
To Carrie, my compass.
For Chase, the ship.
“Well I guess you left me with some feathers in my hand.
Did it make it any easier to leave me where I stand?”
Counting Crows
PRESENT DAY:
I stood at the locked entrance to my storage unit this morning, the orange metal gate exactly the harsh color of traffic cones.
Caution.
I had a good idea of what I would find in there among the love letters and CD cases, in between my old pink flea market chair and Christmas decorations—all my past selves. I sighed as I resolved to dive in and get the job done. Before two hours were up, I had managed to get most of the boxes and furniture into the truck that I had rented for the occasion.
All that remained in the small rectangular room were a few litters of trash and one box that stood at my feet. Without further contemplation, I knew right then that the battered wooden box wasn't going into the back of the truck with the rest of the stuff, as I didn’t have any room for it in my present life. Inside the container were books of all different shapes and sizes, some covered in satiny material, some covered in leather, a few colorful and some were simple. I picked one out of the pile and noticed that the way it fit in my hand was so natural like a surgeon with a ten blade or a piano player’s fingers against the keys. After all the time that I had spent cradling each one, my hands should know them all so well; that’s what they all shared in common—my handwriting and years and years worth of my words, from my hands, on my best days and my worst.
I slipped the book back into the box and in that moment I realized what I would do with them. As I was about to embark on a new chapter in life, there would be no better time to revisit those days and those past selves for one last time. I put the box next to me in the cab of the truck, ready, though apprehensive to relive my own story and to set it free. I would be in denial if I didn’t appreciate the reality that everything in those journals has transformed me into the woman that I am today.
The truth, however, is that I'm not the only protagonist in this story. So are you. We’re all challenged on a daily basis by the same things in life, written in similar words and painted from the same colors. Sometimes it’s a burst of vivid purple, a broken heart struggling to breathe, and sometimes it’s the deep inky blue of a dark hole, seemingly with no light at the end. Sometimes it’s the intense red of anger born from a pattern of disappointment after disappointment or the fiery yellow of a lesson learned. On other days, it’s the fresh green of a new triumph or the dull gray of a day lost to not knowing where to go next.
Today, I can say with a strong level of confidence that I know where I'm headed to next, and so I have decided to share my story with you because I believe that no matter how you wrote your story, it reads something like this.
This is how I became who I am.