the threads in her head

your stories-

I don't know how to impress onto you that your stories are the best.

Not for the content, even though they make me laugh a lot. Not for the description, although when you describe the moon you bring me into an entirely new world. Not for the plot, not for your tone, not for the characters.

Only for the sheer joy of listening you talk for more than 30 seconds, of suddenly seeing the same thing that is existing in your mind (as you think about the images and translate them into words, and thus put an image into my head too), for the sharing of a moment, moments, for having to do something for it when you're feeling slightly unwilling, for not having to do something for it when you decide I shall have one, for the way you try to get out of it, for the way you gamely face it, for the way you do it.

Do you hate it that much?

I speak in the language of stories. I look at pictures of frogs and my tongue goes slightly dry, I want to tell you, point out to you those brilliant colours and gorgeous form, their lives, their stories, the horrible spiders. And then I'll switch to the perspective of spiders and talk about how horrible humans are. And then I'll look at pictures of humans and journeys and try to read the word printed on the documents, and trace the curl of the smile of the nice old man with my eyes, and wonder what stories they had, and then admire the bath suits of the ladies - such nice pretty bath suits, I wonder why they don't have bath suits like that anymore -

and then I'll switch to a story of you, except that I don't do it in front of you, I talk of you to others, often, often, how you're taller, the things we went through, etc, etc.

What are stories.

Stories are the silly things you tell me about the Amazon flooding because the monkeys needed to talk to the fish.

Stories are about flatted factories and how they're little small houses, just for business.

Stories are the, "shhh" and then pointing to a squirrel that is just ahead of us, and creeping very slowly to look at it closer.

Stories are the description of the moon, or tree, of what happened today, of how cute that little boy is, a laugh.

Stories are your every single word to me that does not involve me, the words that reveal you, and not me.