Honesty. It is a luxury many of us cannot afford. Many a time, we lie to people, we lie to cover up, our guards up. There are so many reasons why people lie. Validation happens to be one of them. Fear is another. Yet, I think no lie is as dangerous as the ones we tell ourselves.
Many people sit and concoct scenarios that are far from the truth in their heads. They spin tales that fit their narrative. They tell themselves stories that are so far from the truth. The scariest thing is how they believe it. They take everything they tell themselves as the truth and then they act based on what they believe.
It’s 3:55am here as I begin to pen down thoughts. I wonder, when I see men and women being so sure of the lies they tell themselves. They are so sure this is how it is and they go ahead to make decisions off stories they told themselves. The funny part of everything is, they won’t take any other reason. Your effort to try to make them see is fruitless. Why? They enjoy the tinted windows in their haunted mansions.
In their stories, they are the main characters. They are righteous and they have you and every other thing around you figured out. I can imagine the fear that must come with entertaining or simply imagining the notion that they are wrong. No. They can’t even imagine it because then they would have to do a whole 360. Not everyone is change material. Some people prefer being stuck as they are. They know how toxic they can be overtime but it is “your fault” not theirs.
They are very mature and you’re the childish one. They see how things really are, you’re the unreasonable one. They have a lot to say whereas what little you might want to is none of their business. Why should they listen to you when all you’re gonna say will counter their plot and storylines? Why should they listen to you?
Or maybe I should ask, why should you listen to them? Many times when I read stuffs like this I think of people who have hurt me. Arguments and thoughts of irrational emotions covered in vile words. However, I say this time, stop, look back and maybe you’re the problem.
Maybe your tales are nothing but web of lies. I say, maybe it’s not too late. If every other person is a problem in your books and you are always perfect, mature, honest, I say YOU LIE and mostly to yourself. You are just a toxic egg waiting to happen, sitting in a velvet clad box.
As I ponder, 4:12am I am still writing, I’m asking myself a myriad of questions. The birth of so many uncertainties besieging my mind. Could I have been projecting? Have I been spinning stories to cover my hurt, pain and disappointment? Have I hurt people with my actions so they don’t have the chance to hurt me? There are so many possibilities. What I know is I am not above mistakes.
It’s time to break open those windows…
The clouds were not so red after all from where I stood, it was a perfect contrast of white to the azure sky. There were no clowns surrounding my lawn, looking for ways to break into my mansion. They were only just flowers moving with the wind. And the cape around my shoulders made of red velvet was a weight rather than wings. The crown of jewels that rested on my head was nothing but thorns. Time we got down from that high horse, don’t you think?
All Images are mine
