Where Do the Stories Really Go?
All that lead up to anyone’s undoing is initially outwardly inflicted, but once we defeat them we have the real enemy to deal with – ourselves. Maybe the stories will be told, maybe they will remain quiet and die and maybe they will be tucked away in a manila folder behind so many other broken lives. Or worse of all, coated lightly and woven into the fabrics lining of a wanton conversation of recollection by question. Delivered as a passive piece while at a park having a picnic in the sunshine with a new woman and bottle of wine.