"Bill," I said calmly, "pass me the butter."
William obliged because he had no recourse
But it was at this time when I realized
How little fiction interested me, my own fictions, anymore
And poor Willy ceased to exist
Leaving in the puff of dust and rapidly evaporating moisture
A thousand images of smiling faces and sparkling eyes
Visions to keep me company in this new reality
Visions of love and togetherness and beauty
More lies, to be sure, but at least real ones.
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