My brain works in webs; never up and down, right to left, front to back. Little words, little feelings, little memories swirl around, matted together and making friends, gossiping and creating stories that may or may not be true. Does it matter? That’s how I’ll remember it.
It’s strange what you see in people and what they see in you. He saw things in me that were never there to begin with. I saw things in him that he didn’t want to see in himself.
Playing false is fun but it’s exhausting. Eventually you’re gasping for reality, for the truth, for who you really are. You’re sick of costumes and rehearsed lines, timed looks, the audience’s laughter. We did everything for an audience, usually of just each other.
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