I love people with stories. I love them more for sharing it and even at times giving me the privilege to tell them to others. Out of the mundane rhetoric of life, here we have “our once upon a times” and our “suddenly” that leave us breathless till the end.
Growing up, I had always been accustomed to stories and I still am now. Piles of books or on-line write-ups flood my sleepless nights as I ponder upon the mysteries of life and its facets. Stories make me think, they dig inside the abyss of my boredom and fill it up with life.
I always love talking to people who actually have something to talk about. A lot of friendships have been forged by stories and fortified with experience. It seems shallow to think that stories change us, but they do. Even those stories that are challenged by the lashes of reality and of the grit of pain enable us to go beyond what we hear or read. They have made us human, and with that thought we become supernatural.
I will never get tired of hearing stories. Spare my ears from nothing, happiness, dismay, triumph or tragedy, I want to hear them all. Echoing like stars bidding farewell to the canvass that is night, I give much ovation to those thoughts that leave me sleepless.
Everybody has a story. An experience that is worth listening. A memory sweet but painful, everyday is a story. Everybody is a story. If thoughts provoke us to think that nothing is worth remembering, then we make it memorable. I’ll do my best to listen to every story I hear. And this time, I promise to take notes.