One day we'll write a book about real vs fake. It'll be full of poetry and the words will talk themselves into falling off the pages like your words fall to the floor and break. We'll sell it at every local bookstore, it'll be in thrift shop bargain bins and dollar store checkout lines and no one will remember it when they're done reading. It'll be full of sunsets and the ocean will pour out of the page exactly halfway through and in one reality it will drown the reader. It will grow a seed from its binding that sprouts into a plant, a beautiful flower, that will burn. The ashes left in the binding will grow another seed. Phoenix flower. Sins and sludge will depress your tongue if you try to read it aloud and it will be forgotten on the coffee table, left behind at a bus stop, always lost before you've read every bit of it. Only the skimmers will get to see from one cover to the other. And once it's over, once it's gone, you'll see just a little clearer. You'll remember things and forget things at your own pace. Suddenly everything will be real again.