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You think you know, I want to say to them. You think you know but you don’t. But know what, exactly? What is there to really know? Sometimes when I tell myself or Ava the story, it grows teeth and it’s something. Definitely something. Other times, it comes apart in my hands like air.
Why do you lie so much? And about the weirdest little things? my mother always asked me. I don’t know, I always said. But I did know. It was very simple. Because it was a better story.
never known how to be in this world without most of my soul dreaming up and living in another.
