And who's to tell which of my stories are true, which of them actually took place, and which are mere constructions of mind. I'm a paramnesiac, a storyteller, a writer, and if it didn't happen quite the way I said, does that matter?

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 you tell? What makes you so sure? And is it untruthful, then, to write as though I have experienced these things? I never say: This is what happened to me, I swear it happened. I never have to claim experience, survival. I just put forth a story, a description, sometimes real, sometimes pasted together from various internal sources and extrapolations.

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.

The mind fails to truly differentiate between actuality and imagination.

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.

How do I remember it?
If I remember it as a dream-
it's gone, back to sleep
If I remember it as real-
it's a photograph, edges bent.
People tell me things I did as a child but,
I don't remember them
Does that mean it didn't happen?
I see things in places I have never been -
like I have seen them before-but it's false.
Does that mean it didn't happen?

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

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