As humans we're trained to be skeptical, because lets face it,

people lie to us all the time.

The rule is, every person is a liar until proven honest. Lying is bad. Or so we are told constantly from birth- honesty is the best policy, the truth shall set you free, I chopped down the cherry tree, whatever. The fact is lying is a necessity.

We lie to ourselves because the truth, the truth hurts.

No matter how hard we try to ignore or deny it, eventually the lies fall away, whether we like it

or not.

But here's the truth about the truth:

It hurts.

So we lie.

The greatest irony of love;

loving the right person at the wrong time, having the wrong person when the time is right and finding out you love someone right after that person walks out of your life.

And sometimes, you think you're already over a person, but when you see them smile at you, you'll think you'll suddenly realize that you're just pretending to be over them to ease the pain of knowing that they will never be yours again. For some, they think that letting go is one way of expressing how much they love that person. Some are afraid to see the one they love being held by someone else. Most relationships tend to fail not because the absence of love. Love is always present. It's just that one was being loved too much and the other was being loved too little. As we all know that the heart is the center of the body but it beats on the left. Maybe that's the reason why the heart is not always right. Most often we fall in love with the person we think we love but to only discover that for them, we are just for passing time while the one who truly loves us remains either a friend or a stranger.

So here's a piece of advice;

Let go when you're hurting too much, give up when love isn't enough, and move on when things are not like before. For surely there is someone out there who will love you even more.

Everyday we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heartache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shots we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty. Every woman, when she gets quiet, when she becomes desperately honest with herself, is capable of uttering profound truths.

We all derive from the same source.

There is no mystery about the origin of things. We are all part of creation, all queens, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up to discover what is already there.