The storyteller had beautiful tales to weave. He had delightful things to say and magical moments to capture, and all of us gathered around to let the story teller take us into a flight of happy moments... hours of imagination, where there lived someone else, in a different life, and in a different context from us, who became an important part of us. This other person became a part of us.. her pain making us flinch, and her kisses making us giddy.
This was so, because the story teller was that vivid in what he told us..and because he told us stories that we could relate too. We could feel what the character felt, because all of us had felt that way. We were hearing our own stories and yet, they were so different.
What we loved was to anticipate the beautiful end that was to come. For the good things to happen. For the knight to slay the dragon without the damsel having to nag him into doing so.
And we all believed that we had a golden tale to live. Similar to the one being told to us.
Untill one day, we stopped believing that we could.
but something went wrong.. i went on believing in my own fairy tale.. hoping and wishing it would come true. Mayb i was wrong. i was to have grown out of it sooner and stopped wishing that theyd come, cz this was like wishing fr a carpet to fly. Mayb this would hurt me more than anything else. but i went on believing in my magic tale... i still do..and i dont know why.. it has hurt me enough and spilt a lot of tears...
but...
If you are a dreamer,come in. If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar, a hoper, a prayer, a magic-bean-buyer. If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire, for we have some flax-golden tales to spin. Come in! Come in!”
