Show me the meaning of encounter. Each person one meets tries to retell one’s story. People want to make life their own; chip it down to a fable or verse. I sat across the table from ego trying to convince me I wasn’t real; to persuade me that I didn’t only just emerge from the ether of nothing’s existence, a glossing over in the eyes of the mask at each utterance of Truth passing these lips. What is this? A piece which loathes the reality of claiming one’s own inheritance. Sick, psychotic fantasy. Will you go to an insane person who holds a degree in the study of the senseless to help you decide what you are? You are bound to find trouble.
Never let anyone tell you who you are or where you have been.