a plausible narrative

I was writing a poem the other day, in the corner of a softly lit bar, waiting for a band to go on stage. I was struck with a sentiment that I immediately sought to put into words, and as I put pen to paper decided that I couldn't directly express it--couldn't acknowledge it, even in private--so I used an extended metaphor.

I'm still unwilling to mention it, talk about it, but now it's haunting my mind. I don't want to accept these thoughts, I still don't really believe they're there. And it seems like everyone around me notices that something's bothering me. They keep asking questions about it. I dismiss it with a shrug, say it's nothing, or provide a plausible narrative to explain my behavior. "I'm tired," I'll say. "I haven't eaten yet." "I have a headache." Sometimes it's even true--partly. Those little half-lies where you aren't actually telling any lies but you're only telling truths which make people believe something which is false, right?

It helps being given to mood swings so I don't have to tell anyone about it. But I don't actually care if they find out--I'm only really keeping it secret from myself.

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