Making a Prologue


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There is a funny thing about starting things in the middle. The point is that it doesn’t matters how I say it, the story can’t change. I was in that attic, in that kitchen, with that stereo. Buying those biscuits and drinking that tea. I was there while no recognition of myself was being made.
I guess it’s always like this when you try to explain how you, someone with plans, or at least ideas, got here, to now, with someone. That is how a story begins, and that is why the story repeats itself no matter the characters. Because at the end it’s not about them or the unused backyard.

It was as simple as going to the cinema on sundays. And this story it’s not about how it wasn’t that, it is about how everybody made her believe otherwise.

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