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Monday, February 3, 2014

Therein lies the challenge: discover the truth within each of the stories, and kiss the dross good-bye.

It's not for nothing that we keep telling ourselves the same stories over and over and over again. Without that constant re-inflation they would quickly run out of air. 
They're lousy with pinholes. Hold them up to the light and you can see how very thin they are. 
Like tissue paper. 
Like Swiss cheese. 
The gauziest veils of fantasy.

They're gasping for air. 
They're on their last shaky legs. 

Now is the time for mercy, for release. Cut off life support. 
Take no heroic measures. 

Read them their last rites, thank them, bless them, and release them back to Heaven from whence they came. Let them float upwards in a hail of blown kisses.

"Thank you. Please forgive me. I love you. You're free to go. I no longer need you."