Maybe it’s all fiction

I believe a person can read a story and have various interpretations, I think a person can read this and assume endless assumptions. Maybe this is true, or maybe it’s a work of fiction. I don’t really know what one can call this, but I think I’d like to call it a short story/poem.

We walked so many roads, but different ways.

We talked, but I think I was the only one listening.

We ran a race, but I think I was the only one running.

We timed ourselves, but I think I was the only one looking at the watch.

We fought, but I think I was the only one really fighting.

I think when people walk into lives; they walk in to change them.

 You called yourself one chapter, but I called you a whole book.

We are so different, and yet we are so alike.

Our lives, to me is a book,

But to you it’s a short story.

Maybe our life is a bunch of short stories stitched together to form a fictional novel.

We don’t remember what happened, what we remember is what happened. – John Green

We have different interpretations of our story,

I have 8 years, and you have 5.

We are fighting for a past we don’t even remember.

We are killing for a future we don’t even have,

Or maybe I’m killing for a future I wish we had.

Maybe the way I look at us is all a smoke screen,

Maybe the way I see us is all a lie,

Maybe my memories are a matter of fiction,

Of hideous hope or maybe even want.

Maybe the stories I formed in my mind were writer’s fiction,

I am a story teller so maybe I made it all up.

There was never an ‘us’

There was just a ‘me’

And there was just a ‘you’.

Maybe I was unconsciously looking for something like love

And you were the only one standing in front of me.

Maybe I picked you because you were easy,

And I didn’t know the pain of hurt.

Or maybe I picked you as my muse

Because I wanted something different;

Maybe just maybe I wanted to write a story,

Maybe you were always just research.

I don’t know how or where or when you walked in,

My head says 8 years

Or maybe it’s all fiction.