Dear God, for every piercing word that dug deeper through open flesh, that I ever said with the haughtiness of Pushkin thinking that the truth is all that matters; no matter how harsh, I am willing to suffer for the rest of my days to atone for.
And I'm willing to swallow my tongue, I'm willing to fade, and blend with the background, blind the eyes of my mind to everything : Nick Carraway was right all along. Watch the world as if you were both within and without, speak no lies; but tell no truth you are not asked for.
I was wrong.
I've been wrong for a very long time; boasting thesbianly of leading a clean existence as if it was a novel concept alien to humanity : the bare truth is ugly, a truth that fears no counter slap is a truth that is uttered with the intent to kill, slowly, a poisoned dagger that tears your cells apart while still alive and breathing; that's why we invented lying.
It's to survive the cruelty of this life ,for life is cruel as it is and no one really needs a reality check; there is no merit in embracing a reality that is wrapped in despair.
I never realized how hurtful a truth could be until I made a dear person to my heart shed tears. I've never seen them cry before this instant.
"You think I don't already know that?"
I broke a person.
That was the last straw. Something I couldn't help saying.
I could hear it. The mirror cracking from side to side as their eyes reddened and their lips quivered. As their voice weakened it could no longer fight to reach through; as they transformed this human act of vulnerability into a chuckle, They laughed it off.
So I wouldn't hear their wails.
I broke a person.
And it kinda broke something within my own along, to see how I could've avoided that.
I broke a person.
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