CONFESSIONS TO THE MOON

-I’m not rotten!- Or at least that is what I repeat to myself every day when stalking at my face in the mirror.

My face, ja, I can see it now while staring at the water on my backyard pool, it is just me and the moon, and I'm getting nostalgic. My face has changed so much since I experience my first betrayal, but I'll not entertained that idea or I'll lost what little mental peace I can summon right now and don't want to go down that rabbit hole.

People think that I don't have forgiveness in myself, like if I was born without it, some sort of void growing inside of my soul, a missing piece. People get offended when I confirm the betrayal and simply walk away from their lives, boiling in anger, fuming and cursing, but never looking back, never forgiving nor forgetting.

People do not understand my past and how many times I've been betrayed, how many times I had overlooked it just to be crossed again, believe me, I’ve had plenty of experience in that field.

-Do people really think I am that stupid?- I asked out loud to no one in particular, but the moon perhaps. I'm laughing sarcastically while finishing the last puff of my cigarette. I am not a smoker but sometimes times just called for it, if only for the aesthetic that accompanies the melancholy of the moment, what can I say? I live for the drama.

-When will they understand that I’ll always figure it out in the end?- So many lies to my face, so many “Are you crazy? I’ll never do that to you” comments, only to get caught at the moment that they (and if I’m honest, even me) less expected it; A phone forgotten on a bathroom and a hunch that tells me “Check the phone, this is your opportunity” only to find the proof I needed to have the conversation and not been called “Jealous” “paranoid” or even "Bitch" as if their decisions were my fault.

It wasn’t even that hard this time, I just tap in the code on the phone locked screen, and the conversation was there, welcoming me, eager to be read by my curious eyes, while my brain put in place all of the other pieces, like if I just found the missing one. After that, the conversation is always the same, couple of “It wasn’t my intention” sometimes the typical “I was going to finish it but didn't know how" through on the mix, and sometimes it goes as follow "I didn't meant to spill your secrets but they offered me good money for it, and you knew I was broke"...

-In the end does the reason and the excuses even matter?- I think while contemplating the moon taking another puff of nicotine, bending my head slightly back while closing my eyes, directing the smoke straight to my lungs, elongating the moment and the feeling for as long as I can.

I've been going through the motions of betrayal over and over again, as I'm sure most humans on their 30s' has, but unfortunately or luckily, I'm a public figure so sooner than later everyone gets to know the story, or should I said a version of the story that the media has already enhance for them, so it is not uncommon that people thing they know me, sometimes I'm the heroine and others I'm the villain, depending on what increases the media profit the most.

Truth to be told? I'm sick and tired of this circus, but my cigarette is over and I need to go back to my reality, tomorrow this recent betrayal will be exposed, and I'll need to walk in front of the paparazzi cameras while keeping a neutral face, contemplating if I am the owner of the circus, who enjoy and profits out of the benefits of fame or the monkey, who is dressed as the owner wants, and performs tricks for the audience to be amuse, just to be locked on his cage once the show is over. I don't think I'll figure that out tomorrow, but maybe during my next break down, when the urge for another cigarette hits me and the moon be eager to hear me.