There is a function to the telling of stories that people forget. A story is a history, a reminding. Whether it is true or not does not matter. It is the fact that it is our history, our reminding. We are in every story we read or hear; how we react to those past occurrences is our part of the story. We are the snapshot worth reading about. The whole of the telling is not important. Just the fleeting breathe of the tale that allows us to be part of it. Everyone has his or her own life long story that they have to live and it is as inevitable as the rising and setting sun. No one needs that never-ending prose to know how to be. They just burn for that escape; that simple twist that changes the position of the sun to spotlight who they can be. The resonance of that possibility is the echo that keeps the tales alive; it makes them truth. It makes them immortal.
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