Somewhere, out there, a story is searching for you.
It fumbles, faceless through the dark. Unknowable, unformed. Newt pads for hands, it whispers questions in the dreams of people you know.
Is this nascent thing a love story, a family drama, a gritty crime thriller?
It doesn't know yet, so how can we?
At this point, it is not much more than a stubborn collection of related longings.
Unless you are very sensitive (or very wise) you probably don't believe that this ur-story is real because it hasn't happened to you yet.
You are practical and level-headed about such things. Good for you, you think. But you are wrong.
Fiction, my friend, is the realest thing of all.
So real that even when you don't believe in it, it believes in you.
All of the mundane facts of life were once just stories. And EVERYTHING was a crazy idea at first.
From: "Whattyamean? You're going to live on land? Life has always lived in the ocean?"
To: "We could never go to the moon, that's a story for kids!”
And on and on.
Never forget that nations and causes are just stories. And nations and causes have murdered a lot of people.
They take you seriously, ESPECIALLY when you don't take them seriously.
And this story that is searching for you begins with a choice.
It could be a choice to say a thing or leave words unspoken. To move towards or away from or to just stand still.
Doing nothing is still a choice.
Ah look, the story has found you. It crept up on you while you were wasting time on social media.
Here it is to seize your life and make itself real.
Be brave, good luck and don't give up hope at the beginning of the third act. It only looks like all is lost. But if you trust in yourself and what you have learned and let your loved ones help you, you will triumph in the end.
I promise.
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