Like a garment, anguish had laid itself upon me. Weary woven into it’s cloth. Truth had beckoned me, whispered, “is it enough yet?! Look at me and feel the truth of your anguish of your weary and unbecome this moment, changed by it’s garment but no longer reduced by it!” Denial had enticed me. Whispered, “this is all there is, remain in this cloth. Truth’s liberty is a mere musing.”
If truth’s deliverances were a mere musing, denial would not battle it’s existence so ruthlessly.