Would you rather live in a painful truth, or in a beautiful lie?
The most destructive lies are not told by our acquaintances, friends, or lovers. The lies they say to us cannot really hurt us. The only truly harmful lies are the ones we tell ourselves.
I spent the past year avoiding the reality of a painful truth, by living a beautiful lie. I told myself the love was not lost, that he would come back, that time heals all. It was the only thing I could do to stray from feeling empty. I wanted to be in love again, I wanted to feel the overwhelming sense of euphoria that I had once experienced.
The hardest part about leaving him was acknowledging the possibility that he might never return. What’s worse was seeing him a year later, only to discover he had changed beyond recognition. I had once been incredibly intrigued by the inner workings of his mind, but came to find it empty. A body that encases an uninhabited soul is barely a body at all.
When travelling, it is always difficult to leave a wondrous place. To leave Paris and midnight strolls along the Seine, or the quaint architecture and charming cobblestone streets of Oxford is enough for anyone to be a bit teary-eyed. The difference between leaving a person and leaving a place, is the place will always be there if you choose to return. Sure, the little coffee shop on the corner may have changed owners, or the cobblestone streets may have been paved over, but cities and towns do not change as rapidly as people do.
In our encounters with new people, everyday adventures, or special getaways, we are always searching for something. I am searching for somewhere that feels like home. A year ago, being at home meant being with him under the tree in the meadow, or on the stone quad’s lone wooden bench, or wandering down well-worn streets hand in hand. I can return to these places, but they will have a different feel.
Eventually, I hope to rediscover what home means. But for now, I am experiencing a life full of truths, and taking the good with the bad.