The Past Catching Up To

Though, in reviewing the life that I have lived under the consciousness of truth, I am nevertheless sensible enough to concede that my defect of storytelling may disillude from the truth. Despite my sincere desires, it is often said that the best-laid plans–intentions, in my case–often go astray. I cannot say that I am not pleased with the result nor can I claim that the fault of ignorant incompetence veiled thinly through the words on a page was the role that I played innocently. Indeed, I am deeply pleased to play the Shakespearian fool, donning Feste’s jester hat while the public stumbled into gullible Malvolio’s astute trust to a folly as the twelve nights in West Egg turned into nothing more than a fantastical mirage.There are several truths that I seem to have unconsciously shifted into–lies that I simply must rectify for the sake of my authenticity.First and foremost: That was not the first night I had laid eyes on one Jay Gatsby.\\\…or four times Nick remembered Gatsby and the one time Gatsby remembered him.