There are those in my life and that are popping back up in my life that are masters at re-writing the past to suit them. Some even re-write the present without difficulty.

Perhaps it’s my lack of surety of what is real and what is not. Perhaps its just my ability to deal with varied types of people. Why does it end up bothering me, then? Where does personal fiction slide into lie, and therefore interfere with trust?

I guess I have some letters and postcards to write.