If I asked myself questions sometimes I wonder what I’d say. What would I even ask? Would I question my own reliability. What do I do with my memories? Do I warp them to what I wish them to be? Have I made my friends better and my enemies worse inside my head than they really are?
Do I strive towards hatred more than I strive for passion? Is there a way to ever rely on myself fully, to know that I’m truly being honest with myself 100%? No. False statements are constantly made by everyone, and that in no way excludes myself. My own conscience probably lies to me all the time. “This boy cares” or “that girl is really your friend” or perhaps “mom doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” All lies thought at the hand of my own mind. Part of this is a painful thought, but part of it is also a beautiful thing. People always want to live fantasies. But in a way we all do, because we’re all living our own version of reality.
