actually, disjune.

we live inside a dream.

gotta write again. almost published what — 12, 13 years ago? those were times. sabotage by self and by winnow.

it was a story of a girl who kept a secret. she kept it hidden at the edges of life where identity and honesty run parallel and as predator and prey. she knew to keep her self out there, at those barriers, far enough away so that others would neither wander near nor cross. until, of course, they did. no one can live in isolation, and no body can stop every body from passing through. and she would have to cross them, too, though she would never admit to know. but she did know. and i bet you she knows now, if this some body still exists.

i have a draft of the story, but post-auditor (a name for one one of my selves). i am pretty sure that i butchered it in some last-minute edit, and that the person who actually wrote that original piece is long gone. someone who crossed and had been crossed, too. long, long gone.

but no, not forgotten.

rest in peace knowing that you also knew. and that enough is proof that nothing is ever new.

t