I confess, I am not always patient.
I may look calm and patient. And most of the time I am calm and patient.
Until I’m not.
I have a very ugly side. If you step over that invisible line one too many times and irritate me beyond measure, then believe me, you will qualify to see that ugly side.
Only a few people have got to experience what that means.
So please mind the boundaries.
I confess, I hate to pretend, yet there are times when I pretend that I am fine with a situation or a person. I’ve shut my mouth so tight that not a sound would slip out in such circumstances.
Because if I don’t, then I might stop pretending altogether.
It’s not easy in the slightest, but I try my best to keep myself away from situations and people that require me to pretend, so that I don’t have to.
Yes, I am where contradictions originate and end.
I confess, I am imperfect as imperfect can be. I know that all too well.
Yet I get obsessed with perfectionism.
That annoys me greatly.
I confess, I find myself highly interesting. I love that I can think. I love my thoughts.
What else do a person need in life?
Although I find many faults in myself again and again, I love that I am me.
Impatient at times.
Imperfect.
Contradictory.
And entirely myself.
I confess, I simply can’t help but adore myself.
This piece is written in response to the three hundred and eighteenth edition of Fiction Monday inspired by the word prompt – CONFESS hosted by yours truly. Do join in if you have a tale to tell.
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