I don’t see people
I see stories.
Breathing stories.

Good stories,
Bad stories,
Stories non-the-less.

Happy stories with a line or two of sadness,
Tragic stories that are difficult to read,
long stories – some epic;
Short ones still unfolding.

Stories on faces,
Written with clothes,
Genre revealed by eyes.

There’s comedies but you’re not allowed to laugh, it’s not PC.
And crime novels full of charm with a glossy cover.
Romances, some with their usual, stereotypical, pink
Kissing couple cover but with a woefully thin content.
Others depict steamy, erotic tendencies
but they leave you wanting and unsatisfied.

My favourite story faithfully builds.
The character overcomes great difficulties
And endures serious hardship,
but love conquers every time, even death.
And I read her every night.