Words crawl on empty pages
Taking the shapes of stories.
Stories we have seen,
Heard, lived and experienced.
Stories that were true,
That we wish were true.
Stories of what could have been
And those that are not.
Stories of what should be.
Plots melt into subplots.
Characters now have life.
A mind of their own.
And when they speak to you
Often saying, we would not do this.
And then the writer submits to the plot.
As though the strings of fate
In that parallel world
Had never been in their hands.
The characters tell their own tales now.
© Suranya
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