I think it is okay to lie.
Shouldn’t our life be just beautiful? Don’t we all deserve, if not a happily ever after, than at least a happy middle? And is it wrong to lie a bit to achieve that little piece of happiness?
And guilt follows.
I create people around me. I pretend that those people love me and I do feel loved. I don’t a have a clear-crystal image of those people in my mind, just a faint, flickering one. I don’t know how these people sound, I just hear a different version of my thoughts, I guess. I don’t know for sure. And I think it’s okay to lie to myself that I would one day meet these people. At least someone like them. I know it’s stupid. And maybe in some way disgraceful. But when huge clouds hang around me, these are the people that provide me with a haven. Warm and comfortable.
The only thing I do hate is my desperation to make these people real. I make stories about them and tell it to the world. It’s like, if someone else talks about them, I get a step closer to my illusions. And it feels good. I know it’s illusion. I know its is.