I
will find someone who knows the importance of stories. Someone as
beautiful as the strangers who I see on the street. They walk in
oblivion of their visceral appearances, vivid colors and stark faces
show only interest in their task, their destination.
Yet
I think about them and give them a story, one they will never know. I want someone to share this with, someone who can go from kissing
me to telling me about the wonders in this world. Taking the everyday
and making it all into a pattern.
Instead here I am, maybe falling in love. This man knows no stories,
his vice and grace is in music. While he cannot follow my strange
imaginings I cannot keep up with his complex chords and beats. All the
things I thought I wanted may be wrong. He surprises and delights me
every day, and more and more I am surprised by myself. Did I ever think I
could like this? Not one whit. Still, here I am finding a someone. Even
if he can’t make stories with me he still enjoys the ride, and when I
listen to his music I find it hard to find a difference between the two.
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