Mostly we just choose to call what we wish the world was "reality" and what we know it to be "exaggeration", because sometimes lying is easier.
But still I'm here, trying to tell it.
Here it is. The truth, and nothing but it.
The truth is I was sad. You asked me if I was sad and I said "No!" like it was ridiculous, but really I was trying not to cry and desperately making an effort to keep my voice was shaking. I think you knew anyway.
The truth is I blame one person. And I blame him for the pile of banana peels that seems to be most of my life.
The truth is that I hate writing. Not the verb, the noun. I hate it because people can hide behind their words and strangers, or in some cases people they know, are fooled into thinking that this mystery writer is something that they are not. That they are educated when really the just use thesaraus.com and that they actually care about what they are writing. (If you're reading this, it isn't about you, i think)
The truth is I have a secret blog. And I think if you read it, you may just call me "freak".
The truth is a small part of me wants to post the url right here .
The truth is I'm tired. I'm tired of insincerity and whining about things that don't matter when serious things have happened/are happening to me, and to most people I would assume. I feel like shouting sometimes. Screaming things like "YOU'RE LIFE ISN'T HARD" and "IF YOU ONLY KNEW" but then I would be a hypocrite, because I'm just as whiny as the next angsty teen.
The truth is there is one person who've I told everything to, and now whenever I talk to him people think it means something that it doesn't. And so I stay silent.
The truth is 1/2 of me is excited about life, and the other 1/2 is utterly terrified.
but it goes on, now, doesn't it?
-M
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