One, the other, perhaps both.

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It would appear she, or a proxy, suggests things.  So real to one I once knew.


I wonder if she is real.  I question my own existence.  Thoughts of another?

If I am real, she was... is.  Eighty lovers, only some of them Mrs., or Ms., Robinsons.  But this would be among the few I dared to try to know well.  I spent some of my life on her, with her.  To, what I came to believe, no good.  If I and she were, are, real, and if this were her... in recent posts... perhaps I was wrong.

Which is why I doubt something or everything.  Though, is it a good story?  Not asking if it is happy, merely if it is believable?  Viable.  I can't see through it all.

In any case, where I may be may make anything else impossible?

Is she, or they, it, trying to murder me.  That, too, may not be possible.  If it is her, it is good to be remembered, from time to time.

Already gone?  Amen.  Good night.