Engendered

I was reading my older stories today. It feels at times that nothing has changed. I'm definitely still the same. Perhaps a little wiser, who knows? My workmate sure thinks I am.

Some stories I wrote years ago now hit very close to home. Some even more than they did when I wrote them. My mind was usually just producing them with no apparent connection to reality. Now they seem so real...

How does the past produce the present? What is the mechanism? Heck, all my wisdom and I can't figure it out.

Maybe I'll write some more things that aren't real. Maybe they just aren't real... yet.