pieces of crumpled up papers soaring
across the room in all directions.
Giggles escaped the mouths of students,
who couldn't mask the thrill of acting seven again.
The throwing stopped.
I picked up one of the papers.
I met with the girl who belonged to that
bit of parchment.
She had picked up my paper too.
Once we read the contents of the papers
to each other- three facts about ourselves,
we went up and introduced each other to the class.
We finally all had our turn.
"Alright well that's it for today.
Now that we know each other better,
I think you'll all feel more comfortable
Sharing your own personal stories."
I walked out of class,
repressed memories surfaced.
How will I write about a part of me
that's personal, when I have a line
drawn: Everything people knows about
me (most things),
and then the deep stuff.
The stuff few people know
and appreciate.
It's time to re-evalute the stories in my life.
I'm sure there's an inspiring one or two.
Very nice :):) you know, the more you tell stories, the more stories you die to tell. ;)
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