I emerged from the movie theater the same man who always emerges, someone who has temporarily lost that false sense of who he is. Waking from one dream to another, returning to a forgotten kind of sleep. To gain and lose an integral part of the self in such a short space of time.
They tell me who they are, who humanity is... and I believe them; I disbelieve myself. Myself - this concoction of thought and theory, a passing notion, lost when something more substantial crosses my path. Unreal and easily unmade.
Images passing before my eyes... stories of life's triumphs and failures. Captured moments and ages lost. Lives of fiction played out so real, as I observe and wonder if I've ever been as much as those characters on the screen. Could my life ever be captured and made into something bigger than a collection of passing days? Mine is real, but meaning escapes it... it makes me wonder which is truly wrapped in fiction.