“Do you think there’s bounds to what stories should be told?” he asked, “some left unwritten, unspoken or shared?”
“I think if it is one’s own, and one’s art, they are free to do with it as they wish,” she answered. “To whomever, however, whatever way they wish. It doesn’t have to be for all. We don’t share of ourselves that way of the flesh? Why should we offer to all the intimacy of full-open and shared Spirit?
Maybe there’s no right or wrong, just sense and nonsense like the passage said; and maybe stories are the same: not to be taken too serious but for the thought and small enjoyments that they give; a chance for mind to wander and dwell on something other than then mundanity of life for a while—even if it’s nonsense.
It’s a nice break, a nice dream, nice escape for a moment and mind.
Why overthink it? Let it be what it is. Enjoy it as such. If you want to share—do. If not; I hope the writing did something for you still.
Day-to-day is full as it is. Why deny or mute soul-colors wanting shown? Life is only as rich as we allow it to experience.
Live a little. Write a little. Share both as and with whom you wish. They’re yours.
You’re a writer, and a good one. Why hide?”