“Storytelling is the conveying of events; in words, in images, in sounds, in embellishment.”
They laid in bed, the thick cream cover and chocolate sheets covering them. The fan blowing above whispered gently. A pup’s heavy breathing and warm fur beside her. The light from his tablet reflecting on his face. His small smile broke the silence.
“You should write,” he whispered to her.
“I have before,” she whispered back.
“No, you should write again,” he urged her.
“But no one would read it,” she softly wondered.
“I would,” he smiled back.
And now, she is here. Declaring her story; his story. Their life, in all of the beauty, mess, love and lessons. Like parables, like storytelling, like a child’s game, she is throwing her words, memories and thoughts into something. Something more, something lasting, something perfectly imperfect. The story of him & her.
“It was rather beautiful: the way he put her insecurities to sleep. The way he dove into her eyes and starved all the fears and tasted all the dreams she kept coiled beneath her bones.” Christopher Poindexter
