“…the older I get, the less impressed I become with originality. These days, I’m far more moved by authenticity. Attempts at originality can often feel forced and precious, but authenticity has quiet resonance that never fails to stir me.
Just say what you want to say, then, and say it with all your heart.
Share whatever you are driven to share.
If it’s authentic enough, believe me—it will feel original.”—Elizabeth Gilbert, Big Magic
_____
They walked together in story scene, a fiction all of mind, never lived, and yet sometimes was real to them.
They walked the paths of open park under winter sky of blue and clear. With their breaths, soft clouds spoke in proof of life then spread into dissipation amongst the blue.
“Would it be strange to say I missed you?” he asked.
“You never see me,” she chided—strange of way, how they turned to fictions, speak and acknowledge truths.
“I know,” he answered, “but I missed you all the same. I missed the ideal you read and see and the belief—true or all imagined—that you look forward to the words, that they mean something to you too.”
She smiled, and her face was radiant in full and reflect of the high and open winter sun.
“Well maybe I missed you too—the stories and ideals of you at least, seeing as we never see.”
“Sometimes I share in broken runs just to see how long you’ll follow, if you’ll keep reading…and you do.”
She laughed, mirthful in gaze upward on the sun and open blue.
“…And I do…” Her smile further brightened in sun and authentic sharings of the spirit. “It’s a beautiful day. It’s a beautiful sky, and I’m glad that you are here—in story.”
She took his hand and they walked together through open park and tree-lined paths gladdened in share and company of minds amidst the story-scene.