Monday, July 12, 2010

Maybe, but I'll never know.

I write the me that only I know. It's not others' faults for not knowing, after all, it's all just one big lie. Smoke and mirrors shroud the truth. A mask for the soul hides the parts I want shown. Flaws sneak through and I dream of the maybes. The never-knows. Maybe there are lies for a reason. The untapped beauty of a soul is to remain to oneself. Maybe by writing all these thoughts, speaking them aloud, I'm messing with powers higher than me. Bringing ugly into this perfect world. Loneliness is in fact a gift. Yet another theory that life throws upon us, or that I find myself digging into the mystery of.