All of us. We are all stories, wonderful, tragic stories. We are the unopened chapters of a book and the titles you skim past when you're looking at the shelves. We are your favorite books and your hated books.

And we are never meant to be enjoyed the same way, no, it differs from person to person. We can never be everyone's favorite book, but we can be some people's.

Some days I forget this sad truth. Some days I am left unopened and dusty on this shelf we call loneliness, though what I can only imagine true loneliness a lonely thought itself.

What do we do? Most of us would like to be the hero in everybodies story. And villains are only villains before they tell their story. A story. Even characters in stories have stories, and they have stories and so on. Everything does. Why should we not care though, about what people think of us, when stories are what bring us together? Do we bring each other together? If we are stories, why doesn't everybody enjoy us?

Maybe not all stories are meant to be picked up off the shelf yet. Maybe the editor didn't check a chapter of a book and nobody really wants to read it after what they've been told. Maybe the reason why we are so afraid to be ourselves is in fear not everyone will like what they read.

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