[a small theory]

I have a theory that some people are stories and some people are songs and they subconsciously seek out those with loose-leaf paper and those with stringed boxes in order for a certain purpose to be filled.

It's like the stories are sitting on park benches thinking, "Man, I've been around a while, and nobody's truly noticed me enough to immortalize my being. I'd better go find myself a writer."

And the writers are sitting in tree branches thinking, "Man, I've been waiting here a while, and nobody's truly had stars in their eyes worth putting a pencil to paper. I'd better find a story soon or else I might die."

And somewhere along the way, story meets storyteller and they complete a cycle.

One is the camera and one is the photograph.

One is the conductor and one is the score.

One is the knock and one is the punchline.

One carries legions of butterflies within their being and the other holds a broken net, desperately trying to catch them, and pin them down, and name their species.

I don't know which one is funner to be, but I've only ever viewed the world from behind the camera, and the stories I see are awfully more beautiful than anything I could be. A net is a very humble existence in comparison to the wings of butterflies.

And nets and names are not required for the color of their wings to be beautiful.

Just a thought.