A common dictionary definition of truth is “agreement with fact or reality”. But I believe that the truth is discussable. The truth can be sugar-coated. Custom-made to suit the person telling it. Or to the person having it told to. To wear the truth is to be the truth. To wear the lie is be the lie. And there is a thin line, almost unseen by the naked eye, between the two. Between what’s real and what’s not. What’s true and what’s not.

They all say that at the end of the day you still have to live with what’s true. That every time you go to bed at night you will be haunted by what’s real. What you cannot hide no matter how many times you try to bend the facts. To shape it into something it’s not. Something it’ll never be.
You still have to live with it. You will still know.

But they keep forgetting something. They keep overlooking the most important part of it all. People persist in believing that this thin line that I mentioned, this almost non-existing gap between the two is a lot bigger then what it really is. They are so convinced that when it comes to it, they could easily separate the truth from the lies. The innocent from the guilty. The right from the wrong. But I know better than that.
I’ve seen the line. I’ve walked it. I still do most of the time.

Because if you keep telling yourself something that may not be accurate at the very first moment, if you keep believing in something hard enough it will eventually become the truth. Some kind of truth. It becomes the air you breathe. The suit you wear. The skin that covers your soul. It becomes real. For you.
It becomes life.

The car ride was mostly spent in silence. Nathalie tried to engage in some kind of small talk by mostly asking me about my school in New York and I tried to keep my answers as short as possible, afraid that if she got the chance she would be heading towards the deep end of the pool. The bottomless ocean. The undiscovered truth. The dark holes she’s not allowed to see. To enter. To explore.