Stories
I just finished reading Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman for the sixth(?) time or so, and it got me thinking about stories. I asked myself why I love fiction so much, why I get so much happiness out of tales of fantasy, but I don’t think I can put it into words. I think that, perhaps, stories acts as a sort of counterbalance to the ‘real world’, where I can’t justify the existence of things like personifications of aspects of the universe. Stories can represent anything: hope, despair, dreams, reality, creation, destruction, delight, delirium…they’re almost, in a way, like people.
A toast, to stories and their wondrous natures.