Music is something I can feel, taste, experience. I can step into its world and watch the notes dance around me. I feel the breeze of emotion swell and dip. I watch the lilt and the sweep and the tremollos and the flams of the sounds. I can observe and when I let myself go I can even join their dance.
But I can not invite more dancers to the floor. I can only join the existing dancers in twirl and swirl of sparkle.

Stories I can step into. I feel as the characters do, see what they see, hear the noises surounding them, taste their food. I can weep their sadnesses and smile their joys. I can feel pride in their accomplishments and dream their desires. I can walk on their path and remember it when I leave.
But I can not create others to join their walk. I can not describe companions for them.

I can only write me.
I can only put different names and faces on who I am. I cannot invent. I cannot concieve. I had not imaginary companions other than myself and those that truly existed. Whether or not they existed in your percieved world does not matter. All my companions exist in my percieved dance floor.

16 December 1999 sometime between 9:30 pm and 9:50 pm 1