A Game of Lies and Fear

on love

Lies start somewhere.

A moment or a place, the choice gets made, the mind decides to allow itself to be deceived and hear what it wants to hear.

The more painful the truth a lie obscures, the more frightening it is to look dead in the eye, to admit what you’ve been trying your best to hide from yourself.

Love can be born in many places. And it’s always a gift. Even when it’s born in the comforting shade of a lie… or lies.

The corruption of love comes from us and us alone. The feelings themselves are divine—always from a purer place.

There can be a stubbornness to control love on our parts. To interpret it in ways that fit our own needs, to obsess over and become addicted to it, to be afraid of it. All of which subvert the actual purpose of love—to heal—twisting knots of hate, misunderstanding, and sorrow which obscure the truth of the gift itself.

A gift not for the one whom the love is felt on behalf of. But instead, for that person whose heart the love was forged within.

What a gift. Truly.

Such incredible feelings to hold. Such an enormous weight to carry for a person unequipped to feel it. Lightning which passes through us before we know what’s happened.

Love makes everything brighter. It makes us stronger. It makes us understand ourselves and want to be better. And it also makes us do very stupid things.

It can set us free, drive us mad, or both.

The good news is we get to take credit for ourselves either way.

Trying to grasp such feelings is a fatal flaw in itself. But failing to witness or honor them in yourself might be even worse.

Lies come in many forms.

Not just omitted truths. But things felt and not pondered. Things known inside but denied. Things refused and betrayed for their true worth. Efforts not made. Things said in plain—forgotten—left unacknowledged. Hurts left un-healed.

And still, the gift remains a gift.

A sight beyond to something on the horizon.

With whom… it is un-written.

But at least the feeling is now known.

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