She asked forgiveness, and I gave it. But the truth is, I’d forgiven everything she’d done and everything she could do long before that day. For me, that was no choice. That was falling in love.
Either I’m embellishing a story for shocking effect, or I’m the only one telling the truth in a room full of liars.
We’re all pathological in our own ways. You choose the version of the truth that suits you best and pursue it pathologically. Everybody decides their own versions of the truth.
Life is about suffering. There’s no escape from it. That’s the truth. What’s important is how we deal with suffering, how we deal with the truth.
It’s one thing to question your mind. It’s another to question your eyes and ears. But then again, isn’t it all the same, our senses just mediocre inputs for our brain? Sure, we rely on them, trust they accurately portray the real world around us, but what if the haunting truth is, they can’t? That what we perceive isn’t the real world at all but just our mind’s best guess? That all we really have is a garbled reality, a fuzzy picture we will never truly make out.
If you go looking for the truth, get the whole thing. It’s like a good f***. Half is worse than none at all.