We are very good at lying to ourselves. At fooling ourselves into believing everything is perfectly fine. At making our mind believe that our lives are just how we want them to be.
We are very good at hiding the truth. We conveniently tide over those things that scare us or we just pretend that they don't exist. We lock away all our doubts and fears so they won't haunt us anymore. We smile and we laugh and we wear our masks in all their glory. We cover cracks and scrapes with glue and tape and pretend that they've been fixed. We hide away the pain and the tears and we tell ourselves that it'll all get better in the end. We fool ourselves. Lie to ourselves. Every day.
Which is why when we see the end coming, we try our best to pretend we don't. When we find ourselves losing control, we clench our fists harder and lie a little more. We rejoice in denial. And revel in illusions.
And then reality hits. At our weakest moments. When we are tired of lying and our hands are too weary to hold up our masks. That's when reality attacks and shows us what we've been trying so hard to avoid. That life isn't fine or happy or okay. Things have gone wrong and people will leave. The end is close and heartbreak is near. That life isn't what we've made it out to be.
Reality bites. And we are left to pick up the pieces.