What if I stopped telling stories? Even to myself? Even if the stories made me feel good? What would happen?
Would I hear crickets? Or just that buzzing in my ear, always in the background?
In that case, without a story, there is nothing really to hear. What if the crickets I heard did not come with a story. Or the ringing in my ears.
Does not having an audience and not being an audience mean I still exist?

IWhere would I be without my stories. I’d still be here, of course. Right here.