Sometimes The Truth Is Perfect

What is the truth?

Everything.

You, me, everything.

We expect the truth to always denote something hidden that at times can be bad, a flaw, a lie, a deception. Something that’s hard to handle, in the sense that you don’t want to hear it because you know it’s true and you don’t want to accept it or realize that other people realize it too.

We always want to be perfect and we feel like the truth is the only thing that makes us imperfect. Which is ironic, because there is nothing more perfect than hearing the truth and knowing that people see exactly who you are. That’s all we should strive for, for people to see the truth in everyone. To see who everyone is. It’s hard to admit that each one of us is “perfect.” But it’s true.

I really don’t like to say that I am perfect, because that’s impossible for me to do. I don’t want people to see the truth in me, because I see the truth as an imperfection. A roadblock to acceptance, which is stupid. Because how can anyone truly ever accept me if they aren’t even accepting the true me. The truth is only hard to handle in the sense that it strips you of your masks. And you see yourself as you are. And as you are is just as you should be.

How can I even be fit to write about this because I am just what I shouldn’t be. I don’t want people to see me as much as I would like to think.

That scares me.

To realize that everything you don’t like.

Everything you are trying to hide.

Everything you are trying to disguise.

Is in fact

perfection.

I LOVE THIS THOUGHT. ABSOLUTELY HORRIFYINGLY FASCINATING. WHAT A GREAT COMBINATION RIVALING ONLY HUMMUS AND ANY TYPE OF BEAN. AHHHHHH THE MIND THE MIND THE MIND I AM IN LOVE WITH EVERYTHING.