I Write

Hundreds of stories swirled within her, some parts lived, some parts imagined, some read, some heard. Bits and pieces from stories of hundreds of people, fiction and real stories, mixed with her own stories. She felt too much, overwhelmed, not knowing what to do with these stories that kept overflowing, that kept swirling within her. She would look at people around her, strangers passing by on a road and she would see a story, she would imagine and feel their life. And in an instant she would feel alive. Probably this was her way of tearing off the drudgery of her own everyday work and routine. When reading books wouldn't be enough, she would listen to music, each song a story. When a tv show wouldn't be enough, she'd look around and see people, strangers, each one a story.

And within these swirling stories, she felt free like a bird that can soar anywhere, she could be anyone whenever she wanted to, all she needed were these stories and imagination.