Lies are sweeter than the truth. Sweet as candy that burns and decays below the surface. It doesn’t hurt when it’s sweet. It doesn’t hurt to believe, but it hurts when you leave and you watch everything burn into nothing. People love a hero. They love a captain that takes charge of the ship, even when you drift off course. Its the course that you stick with, the course that you lie with, the course that you can’t help but pretend doesn’t exist. Until everyone knows and you make villains out of saints because it’s what you know best. As far as everyone is concerned there is only one hero. Everyone else is just a storm of villains that drives the ship off its course.
Everyone knows better than everybody else. Everyone has something to say and yet it never truly matters anyway. Because truth will always become lies. Words will always get twisted and you only see what you want to believe. Sparing feelings is better than saying anything. Lies are easier to produce then being honest with the truth. How our lies intertwine into webs of uncertainty and everyone knows. When you make up things in your mind, that are fair greater than any honesty we could see. Honesty is a blunt cut, but we can’t help but dress it up with lies that soften the blow.
I become the villain, that always spoke too soon. I become the hatred, the darkness, the storm that turned to a hurricane. The hero just continues through the storm without a scratch, and I am still cleaning off the salt from my wounds. It only matters what the captain says that turns him into the hero. It only matters if the sun shines down on to the sea and clears the way.
It only matters what you tell everyone, to make yourself feel better. It only matters how much of the story is real, instead of the fabrication you want everyone to believe.
Its weird to think that being in a different environment could change your feelings. Even a slight change in the weather, could change a mood you’re feeling. I never go running toward sun, I am seldom ever outside. Its never the light I crave to make me feel better. I love feelings of seasons that ache at your bones, that cut to the core. I love hearing thunder and lightening roll into one chaotic storm. I love feeling every inch of the rain, placed delicately then chaotically onto my skin. Pulling layers over me and finding comfort in the warmth that no longer harbors on the outside. Going to places that are not drenched with the sun. Where I don’t feel so exposed. I’ve expressed my love for the rain countless times, sometimes its the rain that surprises you with its love. Finding myself being stuck in a downpour that followed up with hail, seemed completely beautiful to me.
When your state is plagued with drought, you miss the rain. Storms, sprinkles, drizzling into gloomy weather, everything. This beautiful country can go through seasons in the matter of hours. It’s the rain storms that make me feel more at home. I love how the streets fill with water and glisten under the street lights. How the sounds of water hitting every inch of pavement and knowing you never stood a chance against the storm. How jaded you felt walking the streets. As the sun mocked and hid behind the clouds, playing peek a boo with the sky. Hiding its joyful rays behind overcast shades and gray skies. It reminds me of home. It reminds me of San Francisco with it’s bipolar weather changes. It reminds me of seasons yet to come forth toward the upcoming months.
I love it here.
How weather doesn’t change from fall to summer. I watch myself fall even more in love with the weather. How could you possibly be upset with that? That something magically beautiful and pure like the rain could ever make you upset. I watch lights flicker and drown with the sounds of the storm and wonder how long until this passes. All storms ever do is pass and leave you to clean up the mess. It doesn’t hurt when I am here, it doesn’t hurt to be here as the storm continues. I watch people run for cover and shield themselves from every inch of this beautiful rain. I can’t help but at times feel like this storm. I am the storm that screams and cries to reach out to someone. People scatter and run for cover until the sun comes out and welcomes them out again. All I want is for people to listen and stretch their arms out to me, but they remain scared and afraid of what comes after. I can’t avoid the weather. I can seek shelter but no matter how much I shield myself the storm still follows. The storm guarding the sun from the mess it makes while its away. I watch as my storms turn to hurricanes, while the sun is away. I am okay, I will be okay. I am not the one to soak up the sun, when all I want is to dance in the rain.