Truth. Truth.

What is truth?

It seems as though I’ve been asking myself that since I could think clearly, in one form or another. Sometimes I feel as though I’m living a dream. Perhaps I’m due to wake up at any moment.

Here’s a bit of truth: I never thought you’d be the one I couldn’t get off my mind. I never thought I’d be straining to remember the color of your eyes, or itching to recall the last words you mumbled to me in passing. The biggest disappointment is finding that I can’t remember.

Truth.

Sometimes I believe that truth will be forever alluding my grasp.

The truth? I can’t get inside your head. And I don’t know if it’s because you won’t let me, or because I’m not trying hard enough. The truth? You’re already in my head, whether you’ve tried to get there or not.

Sometimes I wish I knew what you were thinking.

Other times, I’m simply afraid to know. Isn’t that how it always is with truth? They say it will set you free, but more and more I’m finding that it just hurts.