I sometimes ask people to tell me a story. Nothing more, just "tell me a story".
Some look at me queerly asking themselves while thinking out loud "why?". Some simply say no and sink back into their own self absorbing lies that they colloquially name 'life'. Some smile back and toss a patronising look that accompanies an "I don't have any", thinking they've just told a white lie 'cause their stories are lived in a world far from human reach.
Some pause for a bit trying to figure me out, some thinking I'm trying to trick them into believing I'm out of this world.. Some look for meaning behind my words.
Some start telling me about stories they lived, some start telling me stories that they want to believe they've lived and some start telling me stories that they want me to believe they lived.
There are those that give me an excuse to compensate for incapacity. Some just give me an excuse and some promise they will one day.
No one ever told me a story.
...in waiting for things that you know will not come.
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