(Untitled)

I want to tell stories but I have

none.

I want to read it out loud when I look at the mirror

I want to listen to my stories and follow my voice as it

echoes inside me.

I think I'll be good at it.

"Once upon a time there was nothing, after that everything, after that nothing."

The standing ovation of cicadas.

The last crackle of bonfire.

Everybody going home.

I stayed and told more stories. Stories I have not written yet. Stories I have not known yet. But they are inside me. Like a dormant seed, they will grow into tall trees. They will be so tall they will know the sky well. They'll tell my stories to the sun, and the moon will listen.

And I won't be here anymore. I'll be far away,

far away.

17 March 2022