Honesty

Sometimes just saying it out loud is enough. Just the simple act of releasing the words into the air frees them from the mind. They become more than thoughts, more than wavering theories floating through the confines of my head, vacillating back and forth between the constructs of right and wrong. They become statements. They become real.

Already I feel freed from my own confusion. Nothing is solved. Nothing is even officially decided, but I now feel ready to begin. Begin what? I’m not sure, but something. Something more than sitting around wrestling with possibility. Something more than hovering in the entrance of my life. Something new and progressive and exciting. I’m ready to step into the next chapter.

This is the reward of honesty. It’s strange how the most difficult person to be honest with is always oneself. The truth really does have its way of setting us free, but so often I find myself afraid to admit the truth in that very statement. In truth, I lie to myself constantly.

Writing seems to know that, as though it were its own entity, with eyes that pierce my very soul and questions impossible to evade. It knows all the right things to ask. It knows exactly how I feel. It knows the truth I try so desperately to avoid. It puts us in a room together and forces me to face it. It won’t allow me to stay silent. It won’t tolerate my ignorance.

There is a love I know that continues on purely with the hope, the faith, that love will be enough. Despite all wisdom and truth, it goes on. It remains unquestioning. It obscures the troubles and disappointments and sorrows of the relationship behind a haze of adoration. In theory it is a beautiful thing, but in reality it becomes something ugly, something bitter. It is the unripe fruits I love before learning they’re not ready. It is the shock of displeasure in that first bite. It is the taste of lies.

Lies that linger on the tongue far longer than anyone would hope. They hang in air and hearts, refusing to be ignored, no matter how ardently we try. Love, sadly, in all of its glory, simply isn’t powerful enough to vanquish the truth. Instead, honesty gets buried beneath the layers and begins to burrow holes in the soul. That gap is the hurtful words he told her, the next is the embarrassment she caused him, the one after that is the tears they each shed in secret. I wonder when faith in the future stops being enough.

But this is not my story. It’s theirs. My story simply leaves me with the same question. When do hope and faith stop being enough? Because it is wonderful to dream, but dreaming can only take us so far. Eventually, we have to make a move. Eventually, we have to be honest about our next step. And there is nothing more terrifying in this world than making a decision. Even the most seemingly obvious of choices holds depths of bittersweet uncertainty, and they know that, and I know that, and I think somewhere deep down we all know that.

The question then becomes, are we brave enough to admit that we know that? Are we brave enough to move forward? And I know I have to answer yes, because although stagnancy is deceivingly comfortable, I refuse to get caught in its lies. Life is waiting, and that’s the truth. And honestly, I can't afford to waste another moment.