Fragments of stories

We started with ourselves, with poetry we were read, with stories we were told, with memories we had and memories we were told. We talked about holidays, about ice-cream, about making cakes, about the smells of mud, pets, and our bedrooms. We thought of the toys we played with, the ones we had, the ones we wanted, the ones we were glad we never got.

We went to the space and played; we didn’t think about any of the things we had before. We gathered bits of whatever we could find. We played games. Made up rules we didn’t follow, fought when the rules didn’t make sense and then changed them until it didn’t matter. We forgot about words; got lost in stories. For hours we didn’t know where we were going or what we were doing.

We found the story we didn’t know how to tell. We played some more; got more and more lost. Forgot the story we had found and started telling something else. Kept playing. Kept lost. Then we stopped and looked at what we had made in our play.

We finished with fragments we had unknowingly found. We were still lost but we knew where we had come from. We had told our version of the story we didn’t know how to tell. The story was all us. Fragments of us.