What if we are the ones being read?
What if we are the stories; the horrors, the fantasies, the romances, the failings, the exultant endings?
Maybe some of us will receive 1-star reviews, and others 5, while the rest remain somewhere in the middle.
Are some of us mere quotes, powerful in our curtness, or are we full-length novels, with twists and turns, some swathed in beige cloaks while others adorn themselves in purple robes? Some of us will say more in a few words than others can in 100,000 of them.
Are we fat with adverbs, or strong and lean with simplicity?
Do we step into the light, and feel the true warmth of the sun by sharing our brokenness, our scars, our mental anguish, or do we hide in darkness, in mist, grey and cold in our fear of consequence?
Do our words sear, and scream with passion, or do we stifle the air, the imagination, the soul?
Do we fight to give this unseen reader a new message, or remind her of one that defies time itself, or do we at least offer a moment of escapism, making a smile stretch across her face and her eyes snap with joy?
Are we the antagonist, the hero, the anti-hero? Will we see the end of the story, or are we merely a life that supports the true players?
Are we to be put down, never being lifted again, or will we be read until “The End“?
Will we live past the last page, appearing in other stories…as the hero?
If we are the ones being read, are our stories worth reading?