fact or fiction?

I have never felt more refuelled in the sense that i have retreated to my origins of marrow-like misery, as numbing as boiling points’ hot sauce for their spicy fermented tofu we would always used to get, a rise in temperature paralleling the warm fury stirring inside me, a toast to limbo chica, a toast to your newfound freedom that provides you fluidity to your liberated days, as if you hadn’t been liberating yourself the days i’d been up in the skies, up in the air is your attention taken away from the concrete vision of our future, a future in dedication to which i have taken up the skills and passion for cooking, cooking is therapeutic you know, i’ve never felt more release and reward than the moment i’d felt the searing burn from water splashed against oil at the highest of heat settings, that I learned of the understanding the philosophy of romance, which overheats over time, overcrowded, overcrowned, overruled – and yet when the world laughs at me for decisions invoked by my crises, the preexisting thorn embedded in my pumping organ scatters a little, the way you followed the misdirections of your own organs, you’d set the point of interest out of focus, your focus, your attention which fell receptive, by an itty bitty bit of hocus pocus, on that eve, the quickest of winds, and I said that’s bad juju, I get these forelight feelings, on that fort night, running in the wind of an endless melancholy parking lot reminded me maybe you’d always been receptive, to junk mail invitations by allure, to the junk in the thrill of it all, thats what they tell me these days, you taking in junk and wylin’ cuz you young, you out wylin’ as i give another toast to the asshole, a toast with the same old friends to the work i have been getting done without you, and you could get some work done without me too, but you have that option and you strike me through, and yet without you doesn’t mean i am alone, and that doesn’t mean you should be alone, because we chose to meet loss and lonesomeness eye to eye, because you chose this, you said, you did this, you said, as I was hustling through the leaves of autumn, granting me reprise, as your thoughts got a little clearer, and a little more v, I’d hoped you’d see the fault was not in our stars but if only you had remember to love me a little harder, i just mean i’d like to get you alone a little longer, and place your feet drenched in the dampness of my kenzo black canvas tiger espadrilles, when you decided to throw our tangents out the window, not despacito, but vamanos, into the rain, like the photos you would discard of, in a heartbeat, in an instant, an impulse, of no remorse, like the decision you had already made even prior to coming to see me. And that was the moment I knew. fact or fiction? (you’d always wanted me to write something about you).