Dear Mr. Clem
I have never been a fan of history.
Although, history is just a collection of stories of those who lived before us; the heroes and villains of our age, I have never found an appeal in reading the tales of our times. I have always prefered the fictional, and this, may be a fault of mine.
You see, the concept of history repeating itself has always scared me.
Once, you told me a story of your pain, I could tell from your narration that you left out the parts that really hurt, fearful that I would judge you or hold it against you I do not know, but you never told me the whole tale. But even when you cut pages and chapters from the book, I could see you bleeding through the papers, cuts and bruises showing through your eyes, through your words and I could not but want to help you…save you.
You told me about how your pain was repeated two times over; how you never thought you would get punched in the same place twice, how it hurt both times as if they were the first.
I told you about my pain, in detail, leaving nothing out. I told you of every cut, every scratch, every arm twist, every heart twist and I trusted you with what is left with my blood and you promised you would never risk it.
History, dear Clem, tends to repeat itself, and I see the pain coming back my way. I do not know whether it is reassurance I need or preparation. I do not think I’d survive the cuts again.
Maybe that’s why I stick with fictional stories rather than real ones; in fiction, I can control what happens to my characters, I can stop the hurt. In reality, however, I can only try and brace myself for what is to come.
I hope you stocked up on band aids, I may be needing them soon.
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