What if it’s all just a work of fiction,
What if it’s just a story that I am telling myself,
So I can feel good, so I can feel something.
What if everything I consider real and meaningful
Is something trivial exaggerated by my mind, a soft lie.
What if that touch that felt like affection was just a touch,
And that look in his eyes that looked a lot like love,
Was in fact just him, noticing some minute detail in my face.
What if that kiss was just an act of pleasure, just a good kiss,
And all that intimacy was deep and pure only in my head.
All this time I disapproved of those who lied to me,
They lied probably because telling a hurtful truth is never easy,
Please hurt me with truth instead of comforting me with lies, I said.
But I am not judging anymore, I couldn’t do that myself even for myself
And now I wonder what if I was just imagining most of it or all of it.
I guess it is OK to imagine a different reality every now and then,
But it can be dangerous falling for your own imaginations.
It leads you down a wrong path only to leave you stranded in abyss,
And sometimes it makes you doubt the right, quit when you shouldn’t.
But how does one tell reality from imagination, truth from lies
for truth doesn’t always have just one version, we live in parallel realities.
One reality Mine and one reality his. Both different. Both true.
Poetry Copyright 2016, Opinionated Head