Where have all the Stories gone?

Source:Pexels

Inside my head is where the words lived.

Now, it is all quiet and empty. The people and places that used to be there are gone and everything is silence. I want it to be that bustling place again but nothing will coax the stories out.

Not even when I see:

A group of friends clustering around, viewing a wincing woman’s tattoo.

The tall woman’s vivid story about her last pregnancy, being told loud and clear in the supermarket.

That group of men huddleshouting under a bridge, lost and homeless.

I want them all to become my inventions, to slip into my mental landscape.

They stay firmly outside.

Inside my head is just the place where the words lived.