Fiction

I locked the past and threw away the key.

Some other people came looking for it to extend and exploit history.

They reinvented me, but this version (past + imagined) has nothing to do with the real me.

I look at the image in the mirror which is not mine.

The key has again landed in the forest. But no one knows where it belongs.

Now, they are constructing locks that will fit the key.

Fiction will replace everything.


What Do You See

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