Metamorphic Tales

It’s odd how stories will dance and shift.
How their power, their need to be written, spoken, shared, can change from moment to moment. How they’ll pull me along, inexorable, irresistible. To an ending, or to several, or to places somewhere along the way they’ll coax or coerce me.
Then all to often, they’ll simply stop.
Unfinished and untold, they drift away and I forget them.
Sometimes they come again, new and different or similar and tauntingly familiar. Sometimes they emerge like this, from the shadowy cocoons of forgotten tales.
Sometimes they disappear and never come to me again.


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