…the stories we tell


….become real in more ways than I allow myself to imagine. Did he call me or was I conversing with him in chapter six of my book…and were I not to hear the phone ring am I hoping it does or does it lie mute against all my fervent prayers muttered in great angst to all my gods. Am I the vagabond living on skipped dreams or do I really show up from time to time in the rat race…do I often huddle down the rabbit hole in hopes of slinging sallies with the caterpillar or do I do that in every other piece of conversation…is Mckenzie my pup or am I just walking him for you… have we met here or then there on the white spaces of my notebook….will you be coming over for dinner or have I just set the table for one?


8 thoughts on “…the stories we tell

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