the whole story.
how do you share something like that.
something so big.
so full.
no combination of words could ever give it the right light.
not when this story is made up of so many things.
stories stacked on stories.
endless somethings.
first, founded by passion and mistakes.
building blindly in the midst of another story.
created by all the bits of me.
the great bits linked to the grim bits.
the desired next to the disturbing.
binding.
striving to string its own story.
only to be ceased after mere sentences.
one ending bringing on an entirely different beginning.
this one too big for words.
this one living on forever.
growing chapter by chapter deep inside of me.
sometimes behind, sometimes beside me.
and on the worst days,
on top of me.
always growing, this story,
always changing,
always the same.
its always there, but no one can see it.
how do you speak out loud
something that only lives inside you.
something thats true meaning dies
the moment it leaves your lips.
the air deflating its enormity.
with out me, the story ends.
it can never be given away.
or fully shared.
this never ending novel,
is sustained by the details only I can know.
the moments, the seconds that mean nothing to everyone else,
the seconds and the moments between the seconds,
that mean absolutely everything to this story.
how do you share something like that.
something that can only live while kept in.