We are liars. We lie all the time. We know what we know, but we never tell. We think what we know is best hidden. For our purpose, of course. But it is best hidden. Then yes, I lie too. This is the only thing that keeps me connected to the human world. This is what makes me alive: lying.
I am an exile. I think I am an exile, and I will always be. This is the lie I hide.
I can’t tell you this. I can’t tell you anything, actually. I know something that you should know too, but you wouldn’t know how to know it.
It’s me who should be blamed. With my blabbering, and murmuring, I could tell you fairytales but never the tales I hide. So today, I will tell you the tales that I hide.
I flow with all my whim to anywhere I desire. I have destroyed lives. I have broken hearts. I have sunk ships and I have seen them, swallow inside me. They were just so… beautiful, but then there were none. I am so lethal, so fatal.
They worship God to be freed of their karma, to believe they are good people. They all fear the wrath. If you fear them, you worship them. The villains are the people who get worshipped because their wrath is fatal.
I am worshipped. I am just so… dark and mysterious. People love me and hate me.
But when the sun rises and all the hopes are lost in the glare, they turn towards me and think: what a happening tale.
I am not a happening tale. I am a thousand tales. A few are still clear like my water… sat in my head. They appear out of nowhere. They lure me.
But there is this one tale, I have not told anyone. You see, I never had the guts to.
This is the tale of purity.
This tale could be anything but impure, for this tale is the embodiment of innocence and faith.
If I were you, I would be jealous. For ‘tis, not me who could be jealous. For ‘tis, not me who could yearn to be. It is I who could flow and only flow by.
It is I who could know, yet remain… exiled.
And this is my truth, that I tell you.
Not all my tales are my truths, they are someone else’s secrets I am indebted to keep. But this is the tale… the tale of my truth.
This began seven years ago. Seven years, as the humans say. I was there, from the beginning, for it begins in me. Indeed, this tale begins in me.
When she opened her eyes… she saw me, and my silence. She sat next to me, gazing at me, and gazing at herself too. Though I doubt she paid much a heed to me. She had been so mysterious, yet pure: that you must know.
She was lost. She was a castaway.
I am lost. I am still a castaway.
She was lost through time… and I couldn’t be, for I leave my traces.
