i’ve had trouble recollecting memories
moreso being able to separate the fact
from the fiction i’ve entwined
to the stories i share

did i kiss you softly
while the sun began to set
or did you leave me coldly
on a november night

did i tell you my feelings
attaching myself to your soul
or did i retract my lust
pushing you outward

was i kind to you
a shoulder to cry on
or did i brush you off
to stay home alone

did we enjoy your fathers wine
in the early mornings of our youth
or did i ignore your call
to look at ones and zeros till two

did i stand up for you
take the hits you couldn’t
or did i run out
showing my true cowardice

maybe the truth lies therein
lost among the fiction
with actions that should have been
but will only ever be

in stories


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