The non, the fiction.

Life isn’t perfect. We aren’t perfect, but the perfect thing about life is that you get to choose who is perfect for you.

We get to choose who we let into our our weird, private little lives. We can choose who gets to see the barest possible soul inside the layers of armor and pretense that we are forced to wear daily by our imperfect world.

Truth superseded by the image, what we want others to believe to be true superimposed over the reality of ourselves.

So elusive, the real.

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