Being Honest With Fiction

I used to think the trick behind staying out of trouble was not to get caught. Or is this the case of me stating the obvious.
Don’t get caught are often someone’s famous last words.
Either that, or maybe the other trick to this would be to have a great attorney because, of course, that always helps.

I used to find myself in positions where I had to say things like, I can neither confirm nor deny any of the said allegations against me. Therefore, any questions going forward must be directed towards my attorney and answered by him.
And yes. I admit it.

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Being Honest With Fiction

I know who you are and I know where you used to hide.
But even more, I know the reasons why you hid yourself, even from me.
I know why you used to hate the saying, “No matter where you go, there you are!” because no matter how you ran or how you hid, you could never get away from yourself.
I get it.

You grabbed on to a few things that helped you move from one extreme to the next.
I can see it now.
I can see the old hallways that used to give you nightmares. I remember the teachers who used to put you down and drive you crazy.
It’s okay though.
They’re all gone now.

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Being Honest With Fiction

They say that one should dip their toes and test the waters before plunging in.
I do not have that kind of mindset. At least, not when it comes to certain curiosities and compulsions. They say that one should crawl before they learn how to walk but in all fairness, my mind moves too fast for me to keep up with plans like these. 

It all started out as a simple thing. Or at best, I suppose everything starts out simple. And then one day, the demons broke free like prisoners who were free at the gates.
The temptation was overwhelming enough to make me forget about the threads of common decency, and, so, I became someone else. I altered and changed in the sense that I left behind my childish things. I shed my childish ways, even though I was still just a child 

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Being Honest With Fiction

Is it possible to say that I am not me and you are not you?
Of course.
We are not us at the moment. Then again, I am not sure about me, or you, us.
Or wait . . .
I am not sure about anyone anymore and to be clear, there are times when I am not sure about anything for that matter.
I find that moments like this are when those dreams come for me. 
And one of them did.
Last night.

This is not a blast from the past but the dreams come along to signify something.
I know there is a meaning for all of this.
Then again, what are the dreams we dream anyway?
Memories?

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Being Honest With Fiction

There has always been something different about the sunrise to me.
Always . . .
This is certainly true after the long nights that went behind me. This is also true after the bad nights that went either sideways or backwards, to which I say that I am sure we have all had our share of bad nights that went wrong
Not all of these memories were as bad as they sound. Not all were good.
Even the bad times had their moments of greatness because even the villains get away every once in a while.
I know because despite my times; I managed to escape the traps which were set to get me.
I know. . . .

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Being Honest With Fiction

I heard a word which made me think that maybe I’m not so crazy. Or maybe I am crazy and this is just me.
Crazy as always and guilty as charged.
Maybe I am crazy in the best ways possible and likely so, perhaps I am only crazy enough to believe in things like daydreams and fantasies.
Or maybe the word crazy is something I associate with my curiosity, which is enough to make me want to go down the road less traveled.

Or as it was explained by the great poet, Robert Frost, “Two roads diverged in a wood,” and just like Frost, I am equally sorry that I could not take both.
I am sorry that I could not have lived more than my share of this lifetime.
But this is life and so, this is my only chance to live with what I have –
I think I hear the bell now, which means that it’s time to go.
Or am I hearing things again and the audio hallucinations mean something else to me?

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Being Honest With Fiction

Save the notes, kid.
It’s time for you and I to begin.
It is time to start over again.
They say it is always best to go to someplace familiar, or as it is with me in this case, I have to go back to where I started.
The beginning.
Or maybe I should just retrace my steps. You know?
Maybe I should do like they tell us to do when we lose something.

In the beginning, I had no idea what to expect. But then again, who does?
I did not know how to play the game. I did not know the rules.
I had no talents and nor did I have any experience to base my understanding of how to play the game.

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A Letter From Self

You can’t care anymore.
You just can’t. You can’t look to please everyone and when you do, then what?
What happens next?

You can’t care about who comes or goes or who pays attention and who stays around long enough to make a difference.
It is true what they say.
Yes.
You have to save your own life because everyone else is busy saving theirs.
I agree. 

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A Letter From Self

There it was again. Another dream about me in my other lifetime.
And there I was, small again, a kid, and afraid of the old things that used to scare me when I was too scared to defend myself.
I remembered the way things were.
And I can still smell the old smells, like my Mother’s perfume or how her bedroom used to smell from the makeup and the hairspray she used to use.
I don’t smell these things in my dreams.
But I know about them
(If that makes sense)

I remember the smell from a honeysuckle bush which was not altogether bad but nor was this memory altogether good. And, so, it would be safe to say that my childhood went missing for a while.
Safe to say that I was missing too. Or safe to say that there are still unresolved demons and unresolved memories, as well as unresolved problems which no longer exist and yes, I have unanswered questions that somehow linger in my later years. 

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