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A recorded reading of “The Weight of Stories”. If the player does not load, use the original audio source.
Read my spine, for it has carried much, each tale, each burden, every touch. The weight of years, the toll it took, a library of struggles in each crooked nook. But the day it breaks, oh what a fuss, a lifetime of stories reduced to dust. No more endings, no chapters to bind, just fragments scattered in the recesses of mind. What have you to hold onto except your fears, when the spine that held you collapses in tears? The tales you spun, the dreams you told, all crumble away as the bones grow old. For every burden carried, there’s a cost to pay, a toll extracted in silent decay. The strength you boasted, the resilience you wore, can fracture and splinter when asked for more. And when the spine breaks, what will you find? A hollowed shell or the remnants of a mind? No more stories to hide behind, just the fears that claw and the doubts that bind. So read my spine, for it holds the past— the weight of memories that could never last. The stories end, but the fear remains, a shadow that haunts in the marrow’s veins. Yet perhaps in the breaking, there’s something new— a space for release, a chance to renew. For even a spine that’s cracked in two can find a way to rise, to start anew. But until that break, I carry on, bearing the weight from dusk to dawn. For the stories I hold are all that I am, until the day my spine gives in with a final slam.
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