It depends on the way you lie. Better you are at this chapter, easier your life will be. Safer.
It depends on the way you fake. And don’t get me wrong, but it takes a talent of an actor to fake friendships, love, life itself. Not everybody qualifies for it. I don’t for sure qualify for it, since I constantly fail at this chapter and I pay daily society’s price for it.
Someone very dear to me told me recently, after reading my thoughts put on this virtual paper that I am too good to be true. Everything I write describes me as the perfect/ideal lover. It is the second time in my life that this kind of thing it is being said to me. I don’t know if I should take it as a compliment or not, but for some reason it makes me sad. Perfect? Ideal? Me? Describe perfection, I would say and I guess it depends on everybody’s life standards, but in my view I am just a girl.
I am a girl who loses her way for a moment, then she comes back on her track and the cycle repeats, but not with the same intensity as before because she always learns her life lessons even if for some of them, someone wiser than her had to open her eyes extremely wide so she can see the ugly truth in his/her eyes: love it is not a priority, love is a silly joke for children, love makes you look stupid and strange, makes you vulnerable and for that reason love is evil.
And this is not something new. It has been there for ages. Since forever. And it will be always like this. Women ready to open their legs just to climb on the fancy stairs of luxury, faking every gesture, smile, thought from the first “Hello!” they say to men weak enough to accept this attitude since they already gave up to the idea that someone on this planet could really love them just as they are. Or… on the contrary… men with impressive speeches, learned by heart since they were just some boys and their hearts have been broken by some easy girls who did not need their feelings, but only their toys or who preferred to play with some other boys, just because they were not so shy like them.
Charming, strong, intelligent men, passionate, infatuated by the idea of love, perfect mix between being wild and tender, who would let themselves seen by a crystal glass that surrounds them, but never touched. This is what these boys become when they are adults. And if by any chance they would get touched by love, they will build a big wall around their soul, high enough to make sure love will fail in climbing or crushing it again.
They will deny every single day the burning wish of their hearts, but they will execute with the cold precision of a surgeon the orders sent by mind: DO NOT TOUCH, DO NOT GET CLOSER, DO NOT ACCEPT, DO NOT SPEAK, DO NOT SHOW, DO NOT ACTION, JUST DO NOT! Those men will never let themselves become a prey of love. And if they choose to commit, their choice will have nothing to do with love, but with security, feeling of having control, pragmatic objectives when it comes to survival in two.
But there are girls like me: intelligent, attractive, passionate, spontaneous, sensitive, crazy (but in a very nice way!), strong, but weak women in the same time who will prefer the vulnerable freedom of their soul then the prison of their mind. There are girls like me who will never give up on love and truth they have inside of their hearts and they will always choose to stand up for their feelings, since for them the alternative is equal to the death of soul, under the pressure of their harsh conscience.
And they will believe with every cell of their hearts that somewhere out there, in this big jungle called world, there is a funny boy, just looking for them and who is not afraid of love because he knows that: