We all tell stories. Some of them true, some of them are full of lies and half wishes. We all write tales with our minds, weave plots with our actions, tell yarns with our words. We are all story tellers. The pictures we post, the faces we make, the shoes we wear, they are all a part of our inate desire to tell the world, to tell people, tell ourselves, the story of who we are and where we are going. I want to know, I want to /know/ my story, my plot line, my character. I want to live the story, I want dreams that come true and monsters that are real. At the end of the day I want quests and legends. I want to know I understand, to know you understand. Do you understand?  

I saw the story she wrote, the one with the smile, and the words on a page. I saw the way she walked, and those little shoes that tell herself that the world is small. The world is big. It is huge and scary, I applaud her ability to shrink it into something her mind can contain. But in the way she sees the world, in the way she lets words fall onto paper and notes come off the guitar strings I know the world is not big enough for all she wishes to express. It is stuck inside and every day she aches, looking for some way to tell her story, some way to read her story, some way to understand her story. The world outside is too big, and the world inside is too small. She contains the world in little pieces of colour, the clothes she wears, the warmth of summer breezes, and that oh so sweet taste of coffee. In the same moment the universe inside her mind explodes into colour through a camera lens, she lets it drip its way over paper, and go soaring over the notes of music only found within the vastness of her mind. Her story is all wrapped in knowing and not knowing. 

He wrote a story too. Adventures in the unknown. He calls them wanderings within a homeland, and you know them as being homeless. He can’t match colours, and he doesn’t care about collecting memories and thoughts onto little pieces of sentimental papers. He prefers mountains and skies. He fills the void inside his soul with the grandness of the universe, with the constant search for a thrill and wide eyed encounter. He has nothing to say, but everything to take in. The world is blown full of colour and space and experience and his life is just a way to soak it all in. The adventure is to be lived, the skies explored, he doesn’t care where, or how, but if it’s new he needs to take it in. His story is one of absorbing the most of the stars and trying to let the world’s stories soak into his soul. 

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One thought on “Stories

  1. Pingback: Stories | Learning

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