Cold Truth

For me to be honest seems almost paradoxial. The multitude of my lies outweigh that of the times I have smiled. These twists of the truth land with a certain grace and ease, as if each little white lie is its own snowflake. Beautiful individually, perhaps. But they build up, and when they do, I become entrapped in an icy snare. Every lie gives my heart frostbite. So why, you may ask, do I lie? Well, it is better to have a cold heart than to have one with daggers protuding from it. Letting someone melt your heart will lower the shield that protects it. I am not saying you should cease to love or care. But if I were to finally be honest, I would say that you can only ever trust yourself in the search of stability and security. People speak words that fall like pristine snowflakes. Do not be fooled by their gentle gliding. Every single delicate snowflake will bind together and form a storm that will engulf you, leaving you out alone to freeze. But if your core is already icy, then you will not feel the pain of the betrayal. This is my moment of honesty, before I resort back to the winter months that I call home.