The Monkey Says: Fantastically Ugly

At the end of the day, when there is an act of recollection and reflection, vulnerability exists. Not to anyone else, but within one's self. A memorized character, gradually consuming the core personality, that it no longer feels played. Within this character, self doubt is absent - at least until night falls with sheets wet from tears. A scattered jigsaw puzzle with the pieces only in one's hand, yet supposed familiarity in piecing it is lost. After countless attempts, perhaps it finally fits but the momentary pride in accomplishment lasts only, well, momentarily. The puzzle is then flipped upside down to be once pieced again. A continuous track that one fails to see as a circumference of deceit and an oscar-winning role. Every night, weight is gain from consuming the pain, and whilst some do it for the pleasure of testing limits, others are starving from alternatives. How much can one take? In this sense, pushing limits is nothing but an euphemism of being suicidal. A coward's act of forgiving one's self.

The next day, the sheets are dry, the worries have been drowned in sleep, and similar to the cardiac muscle in one's heart, a lie is once again concocted into believing that Today will be a good day and happiness awaits.

"Everyone lives behind a mask" is no longer overrated, and "You can fool everyone, but at the end of the day, you can never fool yourself" can not be of better truth.

Possibly one of the best nights I have/will had/have in my entire life.