Storyteller

Come and let me tell you a story,

A story about a kind yet lonely storyteller.

All alone she lived in the mountains,

Rarely leaving but always listening,

Always watching the world that lie below her.

Alone she spent her time weaving stories,

Creating worlds from her imagination.

Always lost in thought,

Always dreaming of another place.

Why she stayed though,

Was because she was a broken person.

All alone she lived in the mountains,

Rarely leaving out of fear of the world,

Yet she always longed to know more.

To see and hear the world,

To learn more stories,

To experience the things she had only dreamt about.

Alone she spent her time weaving stories,

Creating worlds from her imagination.

Letting herself become lost in the dreams,

To escape the world she both loved and hated.

Because its people were both so kind yet so cruel,

Because she was always alone in the end.

Let me tell you story,

A story with no happy or sad ending,

One still unfinished.

All alone she lived in the mountains,

Rarely leaving but always listening,

Always watching the world that lie below her.

Alone she spent her time weaving stories,

Creating worlds from her imagination.

Always lost in thought,

Always dreaming of another place.

For she was a broken and delicate soul,

Easily hurt, easily broken,

Always alone in the end.

Yet still full of wonder,

A still flawed and hurt,

But gentle soul.

Let me tell you a story,

To forget the pain,

To ignore the pain,

The sadness and hate.

To let everything go,

To escape for just a moment.

All alone she lived,

Always silently weaving stories.

Rarely leaving,

Yet always watching,

Always remembering.

She was a broken and delicate soul,

Easily hurt, easily broken,

Always alone in the end.

Rarely leaving out of fear of the world,

Yet always longing,

To experience the things she had only dreamt about.

Come and let me tell you a story,

A story about a kind yet lonely storyteller.

A story still unfished,

One that is neither simply happy or sad.

But instead, let us escape.

Go to another world,

Born from our imaginations,

Our dreams and wishes,

Our hopes and prayers.

There I want to stay,

There I find myself free.

All alone she lived,

Always silently weaving stories.

Rarely leaving,

Yet always watching,

Always remembering.

She was a broken and delicate soul,

Easily hurt, easily broken,

Always alone in the end.

Yet still full of wonder,

A still flawed and hurt,

But gentle, loving soul.

One who both loves and hates,

A lonely girl who continues to weave,

To create stories,

A world of her own,

While all alone,

In her painful sadness,

Her happy dreams;