Truth is

Truth is much of our lives are spent dreaming, of what could be-what should've been and what would've been. We watch the stars at night and trail the setting of the sun with our eyes. We mourn the passing of every great moment, and we torture ourselves with regrets from days long gone. We entertain the thoughts of "what if", sprinkling our minds with these words assuming somehow if we just did something different our lives would've been different.

We would be different.

Maybe more confident, or successful, more spirited or even at peace, or a thousand different things. And in time this word becomes our silent mantra: our daily mental chant to ourselves, like a lullaby that lulls us to sleep every night of a different time and place, a better future: and falling through the cracks we hear maybe... we wouldn't have made as many mistakes or had as many regrets, and now looking back we see where we went wrong and what we did wrong-- errors in judgment that cost us so much or setbacks that set us back for so long...

Or tiny little lies that spiraled out of control, mutating into monsters of ferocious power that somehow turned the tables on us. Until looking into the mirror becomes an ordeal, until seeing the person staring back at you becomes a war you fight everyday, subconsciously, unknowingly. And slowly, but surely, we end up hating who we've become. The person we no longer recognize that deals with the rest of the world while our real selves are kept hidden and locked away in a tiny, cramped corner of our souls.

And yeah, we might laugh off our problems as issues we've solved and not something that goes far into the tissues of our very beings--instead turning our tears into ammunition. The kind of fight so critical to our sanity we brush off and turn into soulless jokes of a cheap kind. Hoping to be the center of entertainment, and so entertaining others because it keeps us occupied and distracted from that void within that plagues us to no end.

And just for a few moments we can ignore who we've become and instead bask in the admiration of others, seeing as they might. Confident, vibrant, full of life. A light that draws others like moths to a flame. Even though that light burns inside.

Heartache

Sometimes my heart hurts. It hurts so much it feel as if it is being tightened, slowly, carefully, expertly. Until it feels as if I can't even cry out. Dredging up tears to release the pain becomes an ordeal in of itself. And I, I feel as if I'm being split into two while dying a little inside all the while.

It takes a lot for me to write this. To share with the world what I have resolutely refused to tell anyone about. How strange this must be, to bare my soul to complete strangers, to anyone who wants a peak inside while keeping hidden from those who most care about me.

Times like this I want to reach inside and tell my heart there is no need for this much pain. That though it might hurt intensely at times, keeping quiet is a fools game. One destined for silent heartache and painful loneliness. That imagining oneself self-sufficient in matters of the heart are childish thoughts, better left in moments in the past when a kiss could cure a scrape and the presence of the sun could wipe clean the dusty moodiness that lingers inside.

And even though it might feel as if it is straitened until suffocated, the pain is necessary for real joy to be experienced. For how can we know day without night or appreciate the light without darkness? It seems as if everything has a contrast, in order for us to really understand the beauty that is life.

And it is for this reason that I bear my heartache, silently, patiently. Because I know from this will come moments of sheer joy. The kind that feels as if the sun itself took up residence in my soul, radiating from within powerful rays of brilliant light.

Making me feel once again, that anything is possible.