Truth be told, sometimes it’s better not to tell the truth.
Not even half-truths, because they are just undercover lies.
And those lies contain inaccuracies, distortions and assumptions.
And even though partial truths can be helpful, they may hide mistakes.
Mistakes that can make a substantial difference.
And also, generate suspicion.
They say that the truth can set you free, and even though opinions are very much divided, it really sets you free, yet it’s inevitable not to feel cornered and judged by your inner voice.
So, you do it. You brace yourself for the inevitable.
You can’t eradicate that feeling of rupture and hollowness that consumes you on the inside.
You can’t help feeling brutally damaged.
You can’t forgive.
You can’t forget.
You can’t help seeing all the unseen images that surround the corners of your insecurities.
The way you taste her mouth without knowing her.
The way you taste her lover without knowing him, too.
The way her lover doesn’t know the truth because she didn’t dare to come clean.
The way your lover decided to lie to you, too.
The way you told the truth. The way you were brutally honest with you.
And how all of that remains as poison in the corners of your mind, because you aren’t innocent, and somehow you are supposed to endure the pain.
You can’t afford to be offended not even humiliated.
But how dare you?
How can’t you forget?
How come you feel damaged, when you inflict unbearable pain on someone, too?
Really, how dare you?
You carry the crime, too.
However, in everyone’s eyes you are the only one that has blood in the hands.
And then, suddenly the idea of not being transparent feels good.
The idea of choosing the opacity isn’t as outlandish as it may sound.
Cause you can’t mask the confusing pain of the stabbed on your back.
And he can’t change that.
And you can forgive.
But you can’t, forget.
Fotografía por Pierre Wayser