I like to think each soul is a story.
I like to pretend that every person has a tale inside of them, waiting to be told.
I like to fantasize about what type of story each person contains.
I like to wonder what type of story I contain.
Is my story a sad tale of misery and sorrow?
Or is mine an exciting, action-packed manuscript?
Or is it an enthralling, romantic love novel?
Or is it a warning, for others out there like me?
I like to pretend that there are whole worlds swirling around
Inside each and every person around me, waiting to be set free.
But then, maybe I'm not pretending after all.

{alaska}