Once upon a time I was sixteen.
Who can really separate fact from fiction when it comes to memories of past events?
And an even more important question: why should you?
What constitutes reality anyway? With each passing measurement of time the stories become more and more diffuse.
There is a blending of fact and fiction once you become certain that you’ve lost something.
Fumbling after whatever it was you had and saw and felt, you recreate it but it is a new thing. It is a new thing of the past.
Something is added to a memory much later in time, acted out in a now that automatically becomes part of then - in certain places this is possible.