Everyone has a story to tell, it depends on who is listening. I close my eyes and think of the time I have spent with the people in my life. I have seen sorrow where smiles were first expressed, I have discovered joy behind pools of tears. In the long walks of life, every stranger that we meet, leave memories, write stories. I am yet to hear something original, something compulsively different from the rest of them; the masters have written it all in great books and brought to life in great movies; but that seldom matters.
What matters is that everybody has a story to tell. Stories of conflicting desires, missed opportunities, gained love and lost lovers. My stories are precious to me, they define me. So are yours, hold on to them, tend to them, care for them.
I am my stories, without them, there is very little left of the idea called me.