Re-posted...

The Story Teller

I want to write. I really do.

And a million stories are swimming in my head.

I try to focus and look at each one closely.

But none of them seem to be complete, none of them seem whole.

I see a scared little child, far away, inside a little house. What became of her, I wonder?

I notice a troubled youth and an insecure teen. Failing to see the promise of the future, failing to feel the beauty within.

I sense a worried adult, lost in the world. A world sheltering; the happy, the evil, the lonely, the defeated, the hungry, the callous….

Love, hate, disgust, grief…..Human woes; many times told before.
I want to write. I really do.
But I want to write anew.

I move on.

And I think of angels and demons.
Fairies and witches.
Plots from children’s tales; fantastic fantasies from an imaginary world.
Or cryptic warnings of an alternate reality; hiding behind every face, every façade, every corner, every stone unturned.

I hear someone laugh. And I get distracted.

The twinkle of an eye. Translucent tear drops. Some touching some funny moments.
Perfect little slices of life; captured on film, in books or simply lying scattered along the memory lane.. Music for the soul.

Yes.

A million stories swim in my head.

But none of them are complete.
None of them are whole.

“Pick me! Pick me!” they all cry out to me.

“Lend me a voice!”

“Let my story be told!”

I just watch in amazement at the little pieces of time.

“I refuse to bring you to life” I finally say. “I refuse to pull you out and give you a voice. You seem alive enough on your own.”

Dejected; they huddle close to each other. Different colors; some bright, some dull.

Blending a little at the seams; a rainbow elusive and strange and incomplete....

A million stories are screaming out in my head.

None of them complete, none of them whole.

But together they form a different picture.

With red and green squiggly underlines,

They are me, my life,

My story untold….