Truth

Patronising plaudits, and then she turns from me, to her reality, expecting me to consume them, be influenced by her throwaway ideas, devoid of truth, and I turn from her to a place of reality, in a moment of so long ago. Hurt remembers, and it wishes not for the accompaniment of anger, and I have heard the words of bitterness, and I have seen the words that I have written, and in the sobriety of my changing mind, they are distant from me. And then I wish to apologise for my being a misrepresentation of myself, and then within this, I seek personal change, that will align itself to my reason, to the truth of myself, or what I see, to be the truth of myself, and then I ask myself; 'who exactly am I?' And who exactly, do I want to chose to be? And why do I betray myself with giving illusions to the world? So then I have become as patronising to myself as those patronising plaudits have been, and perhaps, in retrospect, she showed me something that I was loath to see.