S'arrêter, repartir en arrière."
Renaud
~
She was a galaxy and I wanted to cross all the light-years stretched within her eyes.
But I'm tired. I'm tired and this new kind of pain isn't one I can tune out into the numbness of my veins. I'm tired and the breakdown is on the verge of tearing up my papery soul.
I can't maintain composure and I can't maintain my hateful self-criticism. I can't help seeing the flaws and I can't dodge them anymore.
And no matter how far inviolable principles go, the fraudulent eye is there to put up a smokescreen masquerading as the immaculate horizon.
This is not me. It's just how my broken parts behave. This is the broken road of growth mazing under the clouded sky of insanity. This is not me. It's just an ugly mask consuming my skin.
Anger. Rage. Anger.
Every day, I see strangers walking on the street, with virtual copies of themselves fighting off their inner and outer demons. And as they all fail to keep a straight face behind the dance of light and shadow, I keep wondering why we all keep pretending. And I wonder if my buried struggles ever appeared as a sword-fight in someone's imagination.
What are we doing here? Does anyone really know when or where or why or who they are? And if you're on the quest of becoming who you truly are beyond all those kinds of despair, then how do you know you're on the right path? How do you know you're not just pretending not to be pretending, like everyone else?
This is the point that stretches into a dimension. You either see it or you don't. We're all acting as if this is real, as if we are for real. When the truth is that what truly matters is kept hidden behind the stage, while we falsely lose and regain despair as quickly as the spectators' fake smiles fade. Maybe it's always going to be this way, human beings beating their egos against the wall of despair.
I know that some things matter more than life. And, yes, there are moments that outweigh the universe. But I don't want to talk about any of that.
People change. People help other people change. But no human being can fix another. Everyone's broken; some are broken beautifully, others not so much. Yet, breathing aside, people lie to themselves far more often than they do anything else. People are cruel. And they're ruining everything. People are selfish. And the first thing they always ruin is themselves.
I wonder if my dreams and my words are part of the script I'm pretending not to read. And I wonder if anyone in the audience ever truly saw the mirror-like property of the eyes behind the mask. I wonder if I will always be acting alone on this stupid stage of delusion. And I wonder if I will ever stop wondering and just walk out of here.
There is a thick line between honesty and self-deception. Where are you?
There is a thin line between identity and purpose. Where do you want to be?
There are no more lines. All you can do is read between the lies.
Action.
~
Alexander Pope