I am my stories with them I tell myself who I am and that I believe my stories picture a life they describe true happenings real events that are factual because of them I sense I am alive
Each time I tell a story a cosy blanket spread out warmth unfolding with the tale what will happen this time I wonder in this very familiar account I become anxious and nervous I wait with bated breath
Telling each story is like playing roulette words bumping into memories my heart pounding wildly where will it land? will I win, will I lose will it flash with brilliance? will this be a gift from providence?
The telling is a frenzied recall bouncing to a fro ricocheting in odd directions it is a chaotic symphony the tuning of harmonic strings complete with a melodic crescendo then I can release a sigh
Each time I tell my stories I tell my truth anew each time my truth is born again and again changed by the listening each time I begin ‘once upon a time’ and finish ‘and then . . .’
