Tonight I found myself wondering,

Just how many people are completely honest with themselves?

 

There are a lot of people like me out there. Making up lies, portraying those lies, convincing myself to believe those lies.

 

Until they actually became a part of me. Until everything became so mixed up, I couldn’t differentiate the lies and the truth anymore. Until that mask became my face, my flesh and blood.

 

And I, drowned in my own made believe world.

 

But there are also those times when I found myself waking up from the dream. Woke up with a jolt of shock, as if cold water was splashed onto my face. And I would dozily try to climb the ladder up again.

 

People like me paint her own portrait. She selected the shades of colour, she skilled fully shaped the contours, she drew what the world taught her. She drew defamation.

What she didn’t draw, what she couldn’t show to people, was her conscience.

 

And when she sat back, all she could see were self-made lies. And in those pieces of half-true facts, she felt a deep sense of satisfaction.

Because that’s how she wanted the world to view her.

She wanted to be misunderstood.

 

But try as I might, I couldn’t understand it. I don’t know what’s there to be gained. I don’t know to whom should the crown goes.

 

Because even though they couldn’t see pass those lies, I could.

I see her.

 

I see a person who couldn’t bring herself to have faith in the world and the people around her.

I see a person whose will is shattered to pieces.

I see a person who’s constantly running away, afraid.

I see a broken person, inside and out.

 

I see myself, who treats life as a chess game, going everywhere frantically kicking as many pieces as I could, wanting it so nothing would be left standing on the board at the end of the game.

 

Nothing and nobody.

Nothing but myself.

 

And again I found myself asking,

 

What is there to gain?

 

Portrait of a Woman | Drawing of a Girl

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