If I were to write a letter where I’d put honesty before self-preservation, what would I say? A letter to my better self, knowing that once told all is forgiven, that the past stops haunting me, that there will be… changes, consequences. I wonder…

What if I told you, that every little thing you know up until now is not true? That everything is a lie built upon other lies, that were told so long time ago that they seem real, as in you could almost touch them with your fingers if you wanted. Because everything is. I mean.. everything.

The first lie was told one autumn night, in a park. A park that used to be very familiar. “I do not love you!” And somehow that night got even darker. The light, warmth and even the familiarity of the place were all pushed aside. The rational man hold it’s first victory. The true self died a little bit that night and the courage to madly dream was cast away little by little the days that followed. The strike was deadly enough, a second would have been unnecessary. He turned around and walked away. Crying. Inside. Silent. And suddenly deaf.

A rock. This is how he taught of himself from that day on. He built walls and barriers around him and he locked himself in a castle so fortified and so untouchable that he was never to feel pain again. It would have been perfect if not for one small detail: he felt unbearably lonely…

[to be continued]