Pretending Together
It always finds a way, doesn’t it? The world — patient, unshaken — has kept its face unchanged since dawn first broke upon it. We, meanwhile, keep telling stories to survive the light. We dress the truth in colour, call it beauty, and feed upon its sweetness as though it were food. Honesty — that plain, unfashionable thing — grows rarer by the hour. Temptation sits beside us like an old friend, too familiar to distrust. They spoke, and I smiled — not out of agreement, but because breaking the illusion felt crueler than keeping it whole. These days, my thoughts echo only my own voice, soft and affectionate, as if self-listening were enough. “Darn, are you even listening?” A thunderclap split the air, pulling me back. “Certainly,” I said, smiling. What are friends for, if not to remind us we’re still here — pretending together, beneath the same unfinished sky?
