The Summer of 2012 lived like a modest, gentle beauty that never believed in herself enough to ripen. A mild tragedy. A sweet unbirthed hope. She wisped away when I turned my mind elsewhere. Not a week out from the solstice and already I miss her. Hell yes, I'd take her back.
We were visited by trials this summer. Maty, in particular. They've drawn us closer together. They've composted the garden where we grow our story.
Our story. The story of Dade and Maty. The story of la familia Cariaga. The story of Portland and Oregon and America and humanity. Stories, stories. All of them stories. Fiction.
The enigmatic sentence fragment on the ancient papyrus upends 20 centuries of dogma. Potentially.
If it becomes True.
It doesn't matter to me, anyway.
Quid est veritas?
Someone said that. Who was it that said that?
Oh. Oh, yeah. That's right. Huh.
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