Through the glass darkly
I have lived my life in the belief that if I were transparent and absolutely honest with others, I would be treated the same way. I have despised games people play, like saying one thing and meaning other, or hiding my affection from the ones I have loved, pretending to be hard to get and even leaving questions floating in the air unanswered. I have been straightforward and prided myself of that. And I have expected the same openness in return. This would be probably possible in an ideal world. As is, the world is far from ideal, roads are often crooked, and there are too many different corners where one can get lost. Street signs are not always worth of trust. My transparency, I have come to realize, has left me exposed to scrutiny of eyes that sometimes are not so well intentioned as I vouch. My words can be easily overturned and appropriated for it is just to easy to see through them. I have been opening the door to many a passerby. I stated my feelings unashamedly and left them unattended as a purse left over a park bench. I finally start to understand that preserving my thoughts doesn't mean that I have to lie. That giving my affection progressivelly, in small homeopathic doses, may be more prudent that offering it for grabs. And that sometimes those games I discarded as stupid might have their use.
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