You Fake Happiness, You Fake How You’re Doing, You Fake Life

When we are small and small we do not pretend anything.
Maybe that’s the magic of childhood: that you just have to be.
Make what you feel see.
But then we grow up and it turns out that they teach us to pretend all the time.

Pretend you know.
Pretend you don’t care about anything.
Pretend you’re not sad.
Pretend you care.
Fake your orgasms lest the other be disappointed.
Pretend happiness, pretend how you’re doing, pretend life.

We get older and we become professionals of pretending.
In hiding under layers and more layers.
So no one can ever know how we really feel.
So that no one can ever really get there.
In case they hurt us.

We learn to pretend to avoid suffering.
So as not to be rejected.
So that they choose us in this eternal dance that is existence.
So that they take us out to dance.

And we lose so many things by pretending.
We lose the genuine.
That it is nothing other than what makes us unique and unique.
We lose our essence.
To camouflage ourselves, to be accepted.
We become someone else.

Only when we see the end.
When we sense that something can end.
When disappearance or death are present.
Then we stop pretending.

Then we realize how ridiculous it is to fake something.
How stupid is fear.
How little time we have to be pretending.
I wish we didn’t have to lose something to appreciate the truth of our emotions.

I wish we only had to go back to those days from the beginning.
In which everything was much easier.
In which reality had not become a lie to hold.
In which the mask was not such.

It would be nice if no one had to remind us that we died.
But we were born.
So that we stop acting.
So that we take what’s left here.
And let’s start living.
As if ever.
We would have lived.