I am an embodiment of stories. I speak of titles that are at times too vague, sometimes too confusing. Within me, words flow perfectly in organised paragraphs, my thoughts and emotions so perfectly written I can relive them over and over again. I cannot tell which story is my favorite; it is almost sinful to ask a writer to choose their favourite story. I possess inside of me too much that still needs to be written, too many stories still waiting to be told.
Words are no longer words when they hold too much truth
Stories are no longer stories when they are too heavy to be read at bedtime
But what I possess inside of me is like a sink ready to over-flow, a cloud of the cheery and gloomy, a puzzle waiting to be complete
I am an embodiment of stories