Thinking back, on all the lives I’ve lived, all the stories I’ve told. Last year I was an insomniac but now I can’t seem to wake up. I can’t seem to remember all the memories I fabricated.
I’m Paranoid. Because one day I’ll meet someone who remembers every word of every lie I’ve ever told, someone who’ll remember every favorite song and every broken window. People still ask me about December 23rd and I forget which version of that day I told them, so I just tell them about how cold it was.
I may be an attention seeker but I’m glad I’ve never been successful in this pursuit because the continuity errors to my psyche keep spreading, a web of lies, a web of cracks across the screen, shattering.