Into the night...

Coldest story ever told...

Ah, am I being dramatic?  I am going to walk into the night.
Everything, almost everyone I've believed in has been wrong, or I was wrong about them.  I believed in everything and everyone...  Everything was possible.  Everything was okay.  I was alright.

It's silly because it's been almost a year...  And I just didn't know...  I believed, you see?  I believed so it was real and good and possible.  I believed so faithfully.  I believed to make feelings of happiness truth.  I believed to make love and goodness in people in true.  I tried to do that, at least.

But not knowing, and just believing blindly and faithfully, just made me ignorant.   It makes me ignorant. It's not healthy to believe in a truth that doesn't exist at all...  Not for that long...  To trust in someone and something for all those months, and then find out it was not... Truth... Not real.
I was delusional?
That's worse.
Then knowing the true truth.  The actual truth.  The truth.

No one should ever let someone keep believing in anything falsely. The truth--no matter how dark, and disappointing, and scary--is what we need to hear.  We have to know.  Even if we don't want to hear any of it.  Otherwise, we are holding onto butterfly wings, and we don't even know it.

You see, those wings turn to powder, they are destroyed if you touch them, and aren't whisper gentle and holding every ounce of faith and belief in the beauty, and the flight, and respect for the fragility...  If your love isn't a loving whisper, so soft and good and true, it will be destroyed by touch, by a year of wetness... Never to fly again.
Tears.
Hope.
Tears.

I've lived in a pretend place for so long, in my mind.  It felt good, to know that beautiful place was there... It was beautiful all this time...  It was so real to me all this time.  I never didn't believe in it.  I believed with all my heart.  It was my truth.

And it became powder, it disintegrated in a moment.  And I realized I'm living with no truth at all, except that I'm a mother and my children need me.
That's my only truth now.
Nothing else.
No dreams.
No imagination of perfect places and dreams.

My children are enough.  I'll survive.  I will keep breathing.

I don't know what else to do. Nothing else makes sense.  I'm not sure if it ever will.

But maybe there was no harm in not knowing and just believing?  I don't know.  I know this feels worse.
This feels like a death.  This feels like a shattering of truth.  Maybe it's better to just believe, and not know the truth?  Maybe it's better to have something to hold onto.  Maybe it's better to believe, and hope.  Even if it's just pretend... Maybe for someone like me, it's better to just pretend.

Maybe it's better not to even try to fly, anyway...