falsehood, by Rupi Kaur

– It’s on pg. 108 of my paperback copy of *Milk and Honey*.

—

> you were the most beautiful thing i’d ever felt till now. and i was convinced you’d remain the most beautiful thing i’d ever feel. do you now how limiting that is. to think at such a ripe young age i’d experienced the most exhilarating person i’d ever meet. how i’d spend the rest of my life just settling. to think i’d tasted the rawest form of honey and everything else would be refined and synthetic. that nothing beyond this point would add up. that all the years beyond me could not combine themselves to be sweeter than you.

—

just opened right to this and dang that inherently conductive quality of this work, I guess, is why it hits so hard. my immediate “rebuttal” (more a query) is…

sincerely, bigly glad for you, Rupi, that this particular notion proved false in your life – and, too, I am quite sure it is nigh on a universal human truth enough to tell every other reader past present and future stopping on this one that it is *definitely* a lie in *their* lives. indeed, had you asked me this particular untruth in the form of a question, I might have even gone so far as to treat it as an *impossible* idea, basically.

…but if you want me to be sincere with u, I have been living this untruth for … a really, exhaustingly long time. since around the time this collection was published, actually, and the only reason *I’m* not assailed by others continuing to insist that *it gets better* is because I stopped bringing it up a long time ago, naturally. when the *it* actually shows no signs of becoming an untruth, whatsoever, over the course of at least three distinct ways of living, continuing to express whatever sounds people do to illicit said idiom will just make you look insane, because it is.

what I’m trying to note is, this is something that *can* technically ~~befall~~ a person. (had to strike it cuz, befall definitely reads like I’m trying to suggest it was anyone’s but my own decisions that got me in this cute sitch.)

it’s not actually an interesting story, nor is it remotely close to the top of the ordered list of worst afflictions for a human being to live with, but I really wanted to express how much reading this made me wish I was just delusional and/or a liar. and to PROVE TO TUMBLR actually living through the quiet, relentless, static truth of this is prolly objectively WORSE than just being convinced you might have to for a few weeks enough to post on insta about it. in this single, subelement of life *I have suffered more than Rupi Kaur.* ain’t a reason to pity me. also, it’s a good outcome, as far as the whole is concerned. just gets really … old.