Novelty

I wonder if you know you are characters in my story. The one I am constantly mentally writing as I go from experience to experience in my life. You may sit there and feel like a solid set of molecules and other science-type-jargon but I see you sketched and textured in a light that is more novel.

"Hey, crazy lady," you may say, "you don't even know my name. We haven't even exchanged words."

Ah, but I merely said you were characters, I did not specify your role. You make up the rich setting, but by no means is that of less importance than the drivers of plot in my story. See, you add color to the places I have been and I will go. You are flat but in a crucial way.

There are times, however, when your look so intrigues me, your action so entices me, that I must physically write your story as I imagine it. This is done out of respect and the belief that no person is too ordinary for the novels.

So now, because I am such a lover of stories, I have to ask you question. Would you put me in yours? Do you create poetry around the way my scarf loosly hangs from my pale neck? Perhaps I am too presumptuous.  It is just that I would love for a moment to be sketched into the more ethereal and less flesh-and-bones person I sometimes feel I am. A character in your novel. Do I exist in that manner? May I?