May 28, 2009 § Leave a comment
If you can start a story and not wonder about its ending, does it mean you can’t write it down? And anyway, is that the only purpose of a story – to be written or told? What of those who hear them… like a revelation in the purple night, seeping in through eyelashes half closed to the darkness?
I hear silence most times and the music wakes me up. But, sometimes the stories win over the silence. The music becomes the backdrop to these tales without stops I cannot perceive.
It means something, I’m sure. I know what too. Somewhere, stored away in dead skin or something. But, the words don’t wrap around the memory, just like a story without an end.