Tell me a story, said the girl. What story? More important how can you see me?
She sighed with the look where the word obtuse is used to describe intelligence, then with some patience she continued:
Tell me a story where there are black and whites and no grays.
Tell me a story where a heart is open and always rewarded.
A story where nothing bad ever happens and mistakes are solved, and pain is not there.
Where the “bad” ones always lose and vanish on a undefined oblivion.
Tell me a story with no darkness.
A story where the protagonist will always be loved.
Tell me a story where there always is sun in the face and brings laughter
If you can’t then tell me a story where it is dark and monsters abound.
Tell me a story where power and darkness go hand in hand and there is nothing but pain.
So now you know, tell me a story that is not real.
Because if you try to tell me a real story, you will say that a heart can be broken and mended
That tears and laughter intertwine.
Where all is gray, and you have to decide in an ambiguous world.
A story where the “bad”ones sometimes stay.
A story where beyond all reason hope stays.
Where beauty can be found in darkness.
Where darkness is found in beauty.
A story where day follows the night again and again and again.
Where sometimes the sun and the rain provide laughter and quietness, life and dead, joy and sadness.
That sometimes you need to scream and others breath.
And that story can only be mine, so it is not yet written, it is not your story to tell, but you can walk, sit, run with me to witness it.
If I stop telling it, remind me of the other stories, the unreal ones, so I do not become one.
I promise it will be better than any story you can think.
I agreed.
