Stories of the Heart

The stories of the heart are not stories of the mouth, whose telling could never say it all

Nor of the pen, whose ink merely marks the surface

Nor of the actor, whose interpretations could never suffice

Nay, the stories of the hear are those kept in the libraries of our souls

They are the pages we turn when life goes all but black

The piece of life that pulls our heartstrings

And lets the dust float off and settle

The stories of the hear are never told for more than one life, for they can only be told

To, for, and by oneself

Whether by choice or by chance, sometimes their legacy lives on

But the truest of stories are born and bred, grow old and die within each one of us

Although the stories of our hearts, why they do what they do, will never fully be explained

Sometimes the actions they inspire can collide with the actions of another’s story

And ah, if they do collide

But if we live and love, breathe and take in, feel and let feel

Our dust never settles nor does it collect

On volumes of life that breed life anew



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