Upon occasion an apology of sorts will come floating into my earshot, heartfelt no doubt, but to the world’s leading expert on calculated utterances, quite suspicious, highly questionable. I nobly avoid judging peoples actions, their words, but their motives are fair game for my ever-ready bow and arrow.
Remembrances, particularly of things forgot or purposefully set aside, reemerge in response to triggers, happenstances, vaguely or starkly familiar, echoing disconcerting emotions and situations, and will wholly discombobulate the new persona gods and mortals are so fond of creating and suffusing in the most trying or uncomfortable moments throughout their lives.
Such creations are generally theatrical, convoluted, capable of momentary adjustment, remolding, and will necessary eventually become a potpourri of all manner of obtuseness and adverse iconography. Such convolutions are of course predictable, for fictions are by necessity elaborate, needing at their core to hide a truth that would utterly destroy the point of the entire work.
My initial reaction to a person suffering an awakening, suddenly remerging from their construct, is to be openly affirming, accepting of their new nature, this iguana like metamorphosis. Questioning would simply frighten the already startled lamb away, better to open the pasture gate and allowing some restful grazing to ease the nervous creatures trepidations. Nine times out of ten this sudden straying onto my pasture will be in error, a miscalculation, and they will excuse themselves or simple vanish back to their alternate universe.
Stay or go, no skin of my nose, my connections were succinctly severed previous, a shepherd do not weep over the joint crisping nicely in a strangers oven.
Remain and you will find me unaltered, I am exactly whom I created half a century ago, bland, innocuous, purposefully neutral, a personality without form of particular perspective, fixed but changeable, a man for all seasons.