blurring the lines between truth and fiction

You tell me: which of the following writeups happened as I wrote them, (or close enough to be considered true), which are compilations of events, and which are entirely fictitious?

• Can I go back to sleep now?
• So she wet the bed
• On the other hand, you have different fingers
• If I could only remember where I left my pants

If it reads as truth, does that make it into something that exists? In my mind, these things happened, or can, or will, or should happen, whether to me, or someone else, whether I have transported characters or livened them up or silenced their obnoxious voices, nothing I write is entirely fiction, but not everything I say is entirely true.

I can't be the only one doing this, I will find myself reading writeups that aren't explicitly nodeshell rescues or stated to be fiction, and I wonder where the noder found the parts to compose the whole. And how much of it is truth, how much fiction, what's the balance? How much is really the person, although I could argue that the selection and inclusion of certain fictional elements hints at a truth in the human.

And in the end, how much of it actually happened is not really important, as long as I can believe it happened, as long as the lines between truth and fiction blur into a delightful storytelling.

Truth exists for only a mere moment, after that, it becomes memory, and begins to change, to distort, to become enriched, based on where it lies. Details fade, and wishes take their places, and slowly, it becomes more fiction than fact.

The line is little more than a clouds, concrete and clear in one moment, blurring, bending, fading, twisting in the next, never to return. But it is not this line that is important.

I remember stories I have read
I remember them as fiction.