**Prologue**

BPOV

I stumbled into my room, with its light blue accents and high ceiling. The cold wood of the floor felt foreign on my blistered feet. Cringing as I walked passed the wall, I took no comfort in the image that resided there. It was a symbol of everything I had gained and lost over the last ten years. My music stayed off, the lights were dimmed and an Oasis tee shirt hung from the knob on my closet. I pulled it off and wadded it in my hands.

"You stupid, stupid man," I whimpered into the faded gray fabric. "Dammit Edward."

I didn't know what was worse. The opportunity to say goodbye, or having no notice. No time for any final explanation, a thank you, or repentance. To see the light go out of someone's eyes who you love so fiercely and freely, that you believed the intensity of it would level you or to concoct the last moments of their life in your own imagination. What their screams must have sounded like, the fear and the pain flashed through them in the seconds before their death?

There is no good answer.

Because frankly, they both fucking suck.

I took a steading breath, along with one last grasp of the shirt and released it. The soft cotton slipped through my fingers, as I let it go.

I had an objective to being here, not that I didn't always, but this time things were incredibly different. As I sat down in front of my Mac and turned it on, the last ten years of my life flashed unbidden before my eyes, some faces appeared more than others, but I recognized them all. I fought back the emotion that threatened to split me in half, because this wasn't about my tears or my pain and it never had been. It had always been what I was going to do about it.

How I was going to make the world better one person at a time. Even if it killed me.

I read over my mission statement. The one that started all this so many years ago. It seemed simple then.

Choice.

It's a simple word. Six letters.

If you ask a million people the meaning of this word, you will get generalized definition such as; picking one option from few or multiple selections.

However, ask a person to confide a choice that they've made individually and you will get as many different answers as individuals you have asked.

The solitary choices we make define us as individuals and either; propel us forward, launch us backward or hold us in stagnancy.

They are substantial or menial, have to be made quickly or are allotted a great length of time, they align with good or evil or mean absolutely nothing, but once you have adhered to it, you own it.

It becomes a part of you.

It is your history and depending on how encompassing it is, can also own others as well. It will become part of their history.

The multihued tapestry that makes up you. The large and the small, the inconsequential and the massive, all weaving together in words of decision and resolution.

Do you wear them on the outside? Wrap yourself in them? Or do they all show themselves, as if written underneath the skin?

All the words blaring and bulging beneath the surface? Scraping against your veins, your bones, tendons and muscles for a chance to be seen.

For a chance to tell your story.

When your story is over, what words do you want to be etched into your skin? What about the lives of the people you touch?

Enlightened. Happy. Fulfilled. Assured. Blessed. Loved.

I want these words etched into mine, along with many others.

I'm making it my personal mission to help the world, and in turn, help myself.

One word at a time.

I never imagined that by starting a blog and posting a drunken ramble on it, my life would irreparably change.

Apparently both Jerry Maguire and I should refrain from writing mission statements while inebriated.

It was as my webcam turned on and the red light glowed that I saw a new, almost unrecognizable person staring back at me. She was a little worse for wear, her dark brown hair was pulled back and there were bags under her eyes, but she was still there, just different.

Actually, I looked like I had been run over by a bus and dragged for ten miles along a dirt road. I wasn't pretty in any sense of the word right then, but whatever. I wasn't there to share beauty tips. I was there to say goodbye and it's always better to break up with someone when you looked like shit. Right?

It was with that thought I started to speak and realized that the closure of a goodbye was inarguably better than nothing. Even if nobody was around to hear it, I was here to say it.

I had been left behind, but not left alone. I would at least give my followers the same courtesy kismet had given me.

"Welcome to the final broadcast of Project Etch."

**Hello Again**

**Fair warning- this is far different from Sexy Silk, but I hope you'll still enjoy it**

Mad love to my beta and pre-reader, everyone who encouraged me to post my latest endeavor, and anyone that takes the time to read it:)