Our lives, so covetously personal, are only parts of the stories woven beyond our understanding by unseen hands; yet we are given more than hands to craft personal lives.
Eventually, the line between lives and stories are blurred in the seduction of seeing both as one in the same.
Pride in the craft of building one's own, fosters prominence (even exclusivity) toward the delusion of perceiving there being only one story (a true one) while the secret scribe observes their fallacy of a beginning and an end.
