And they shape us, these things that might have happened. The stories we repeat and twist and embellish, they grow old and become real and stick there, putting down roots and feeding our minds.
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And they shape us, these things that might have happened. The stories we repeat and twist and embellish, they grow old and become real and stick there, putting down roots and feeding our minds.
There is an agenda, of course. There is always a reason, even if I don't yet know what it might be, don't yet understand. I suspect, and that is enough.