Stories. Such a simple word and yet they were such complex things. The links between people, events and things made up these stories. Everything in everyone's lives were then filled by their perspective of the event, and no two perspectives were ever exactly the same. But stories continued nonetheless. Some believed by some, and others filled with doubts once heard.

Why? Why do we bring our stories, our lives to these streets. Is it because this is where we shed our blood? Where our hard work might be taken of notice? Is this where our legacies begin and where they end? Each story is it's own. Each person can take what they want from them. Some will teach us to learn from the past, others will be a reminder for some and some are just told for themselves. To leave a little something for their next of kin to remember them by. Perhaps a mother will leave a note for her child, or a spouse for their better half.

Unique. Each story is unique though. Each conversation it brings to the table when we share pieces of ourselves, each doubt, each silence held in awe that someone could understand what they had been through. Have you noticed that in everything there is a story? The way things are told can tell you a little about someone's story.

Why do you share your stories?