Sometimes I wonder if the things you show me in brief, fragmentary glimpses are even real. The blood and bruises; the streets and the sanatorium. You feed me as many lies as truths, I’m sure, and they all taste the same, so how am I to tell them apart? Which are purposeful fabrications, which are lies yet real all the same to you, and which are painfully and inescapably true? I’m only the scribe, of course, so I’ll write what I’m told – but I do wonder. Your beloved is the epitome of the unreliable narrator, blinded by love and loathing and eager to drink down any lie, yet you’re the one who truly can’t be trusted. Veiled and ever changing as the moon; I should have known.

2 thoughts on “#1690

  1. I’ve only skimmed the surface of your work, but it’s plain as day you have a gift for giving voice and presence to your characters. I hope to create a character even half as alive as yours someday :) Lovely read!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s