Buried Secrets

Burying people you love is a hard thing to do. I was surrounded by people who love me, and still I felt alone. Hiding a secret from those you love is also a hard thing to do. But at least there is one less person that I will eventually have to tell.
I want to stop imagining the wind in my hair is salty air. I want to know that the cool of the trees comes from the Blue Ridge and not from a patch that just hasn't been cleared yet. I want to stay for the evening chats in the back yard. I want to go too. I want to come with you.
I don't want to be the secret anymore, the black sheep, the outcast.
I want to be whole, and present. I want to be with my family, in my homelands.
I need my roots to stand up straight again.

variations of the truth

Sometimes, not matter how much we try not to, we tweak the first things we reveal about ourselves to someone to fit who we think they want us to be. Sometimes we build a relationship upon those little variations of the truth. I suppose some people can be ok with becoming the person that the other wants us to be, or who we Think they want us to be, and some people realize that they would rather be their authentic selves rather than continue to live what has now become a bold-faced lie.
In one word, he is a republican (-or so he thinks), and I am not.
How can uninvited tragedy be my own fault? How can "love" for another person not include the unconditional desire for the other's happiness? How can the race of a person from my past determine his future? How can anyone truly believe that addiction is a moral deficiancy, and not a mental disorder? What do you tell a person who loves you when you don't want to love them back anymore? How do you know when to stick it out and grow together or, to part ways?
I sometimes think he would be happier with another. I sometimes know that I would be happier alone.