question of truth

Once there was a question of who we are and what we do.
Every single thing we touched was determined by it.
How we do what we do, why we say what we say.
It started from question made up of the simplest words.

Until the answers (mis)lead you, 
further than you ever think possible, 
way further than you thought your imagination could reach.
And you're completely lost, you start looking back, asking questions, 
can't help but be frustrated of the details you've missed.

The monster you were supposed to see was an angel in every angle, 
no matter how many times it tried to reveal its true self.
What was good stayed good, what was bad turned good.
You always managed, somehow, to have yourself convinced.

"... hang on too much to one truth. 
When the truth knocks on your door, you shrug it away."

We stay the way we are. Stubbornly. Foolishly.
Our eyes may change, they dig deeper, 
they stare longer when no other eyes see, 
we search, we scrutinize. 
The heart, used to glow, 
breaks and tries to mend itself.

Time heals, they say, 
and yet the glow never quite returns to its form.
Always this subtle scent of doubt,
each time a familiar scene displays itself.

And so you hide with whatever's left of your heart, to its little corner.
Until you wake up, and realize that your only option is to make a leap.

A half, continually seeks wisdom out of life, 
appreciates the residue of pain,
accepting life's long journey as a way to recognise
its longing to find the other half.

And slowly, wistfully, it will return to its original state.
Nowhere near perfect, for it's unwise to ever expect for one.
But beautiful nonetheless.

Beauty in the wound that never heals,
in the heart that grows wiser,
in the eyes that convey the truth,
and in the warmest smile you would want to sink yourself in.
Because true love never fails. 

Have the heart to see light in the dimmest corner.
As in there, true angel lies.

 [s$t]