Truth

Truth is an ugly and beautiful thing... we seek it, endeavour for it, hide from it, and conceal it. All in the name of truth at times. That is the truth of what I have endured the past few weeks, and the truth of what I have known for over a year, and what seems longer. Truth is a metaphor of our lives, and has become our lives... it shapes us, and can destroy us. Truth, to me, is not necessarily honesty... one can be honest and still conceal the truth, especially if it does a greater good. Still, I wonder about such karma in that accord. I wonder about myself in that accord. What has it done for me, aside from make me write more, feel like the person I was what seems so long a go... what good can it do for me in the future?

The truth is... I only knew what was true in her, and though the answers may forever be concealed in me, and in her, I still know it to be true.

C.