There has always been a part of me detached from this world. The more I hear people talk more I want to stay shut. Silence. They don’t talk to share. To make my heart feel what their heart would have felt in that instance. They talk to tell. Sometimes they’d even do some things just to be able to narrate it to people later. It makes me upset and honestly, sometimes it drives me crazy. How could they do it? Corrupt everything about a moment in their lives so much that they weren’t even living in there while they made it happen. As if even their illusions are corrupt because they never live the illusions in the first place. The labels they use, the grandeur of their falsehood feeding their hearts makes me shut. And when once in a while I see a man or a woman talk like they’ve ripped their heart open without prejudices, opinions or judgments, I fail to believe the rarity of it. I want to listen more but that’s the tragedy you know, the raw ones, they know when to stop. That’s the thing about people and their talks. The ugliness of definitions, labels and lies and the beauty of unaltered honesty, both would affect you deeply in life.
Image by Joe Alison