Story Time

Sit comfortably, boys and girls,

Because I'm going to tell you a story.


Once upon a time,

You were born.

Then you live,

And then you die.


The end.


That's it.

Or at least, in most cases,

That's it.


But I don't want that to be it.

I don't want my story to be

Four lines long.


I want there to be adjectives before my nouns,

And a million semi-colons to separate

My millions of clauses.

I want commas and periods,

Run-on sentences and spaces left

For photographs.


I want my story to have infinite lines,

Written and typed by my own mind,

By the minds of my friends -

By the minds of strangers

Who see me in the street,

For all of a moment.


And when it is over,

When it is truly the end –

After all those main clauses and subordinate clauses

And commas and semi-colons

And photographs and run-on sentences

And excerpts in

Parenthesis –

I want my story to be read.


And I want to live a life

That is worthy of being a story at all –

A story that is more than four lines long.


I want my story to live,

To breathe from its pages

Like lungs, and for each letter

To glitter like a star,

Forming sentences like constellations

On a parchment sky.


I want,

As so many do,

To live forever.