The Story, Untold

Beauty is nothing more than the promise of happiness. Stendhal

Marimekko Prints: Teresa Moorhouse's I've left half read books all over the world. On top of picnic tables, in airplane pockets, at coffee shops, and in trains. Stories remain to be finished, characters trapped inside my head along with the real life memory. I thought of this today, all those untouched pages, and it made me think of life. And how much we are still in the middle of the story. What will we leave behind, who will pick it up, and what comes next?