Did I just fold my laundry or did I actually put it away?
Oh I just folded it.
A good story is one that leaves the listener with a new favorite memory. Even though the memory is of something they never experienced.
“Thus it was that three students made their slightly erratic way back to the University. See them as they go, weaving only slightly. It is quiet, and when the belling tower strikes the late hour, it doesn’t break the silence so much as it underpins it. The crickets, too, respect the silence. Their calls are like careful stitches in its fabric, almost too small to be seen.”
I’m sitting in a train station right now. Three minutes until I depart. I’m on my way to work, answering innumerable calls for the government that contracted my employer.
Shuffling now, the train is not too full, enough space to keep a seat between me and the next passenger. It’s 18 minutes and 15 seconds to my stop. This leaves me time to think, read, or listen, depending on what catches my fancy. I do this five days a week.
But I won’t do this forever. Of course not. For now, I build the foundation towards the dream I pull out of my pocket whenever I get discouraged. I have my own story.
We are The Collection. I am a piece.