History

Exhausted, fake,

Inventing so-called facts,

So useless to my story,

Feelings,

Dear, changing

Is what I really care about?

So dear that I dare to read,

Mystory,

Though some day

It may

Be a fragment in history

But I, now at least, try

To dig a hole to bury

My little dear story

And her fleeting, forgotten story

In the fallible and fatherly history.