There are many stories that I was supposed to write but few that have found paper. Sometimes I feel like my head is swimming with ideas for a tale or two or three or four, but I don’t know for whom they are meant. They are obviously adventures fit for a very rare person, or else they would have been in full notebooks trying to spread their wings and escape by now.
I just haven’t found the right person yet, the right character to share my adventures with. When they come along I can dance through my ideas, tell all the tales I want to tell with them by my side.
Maybe they’ll be a dancer, or maybe they’ll be a dog. Whoever or whatever, they’ll mean something and I’ll believe in them and the words they speak as if they were my own, which they will be.
They’ll come one day.. I know it.