As I sit here in my chair drinking of mead with the windows of my home wide open in the midst of summer. I have come to a startling realization.
One of the main reasons that I have been engulfed with this identity crisis of mine. Conflicting narratives crashing against each other, is you. Infernal book, I had buried the murder of one of my best friend's deep within the confines of my mind. I had moved on. But ever since I wrote of it. The knowledge of it has burrowed out, the acknowledgement of it. And it is not keen on returning.
