The words that have broken me in a million pieces over the course of my life – have often been uttered by those who have professed love for me.
A love governed without conditions or so I was led to believe.
But strangely enough…
The contradiction of being lifted up by the words from those who have pledged no such allegiance, is an irony of the most cruel variety.
One that… Isn’t lost on me.
We question the contradictions of others, all while wandering lost in the forests of our own.
Being lost is preferable to the revelation of our inability to face the answers that introspection will reveal.
So we opt to conceal.
We walk to the edges of the shores where our contradictions beckon, refusing to wade in.
Because the litter of our lives is not unlike pockmarks on our collective landscapes.
Knowing that cowardice will always obscure the purity of our beauty.
Only if we neglect to pick up after ourselves.
Instead of letting our litter languish, we should make certain that we dispose of it properly.
In short – resolving to throwing our contradictions in the garbage, so it doesn’t wash up on our shores.
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