The hidden life

We are only true when we are alone. When we can hear the echo of our footsteps in the empty halls of our house. When the only light comes from the room where we are, and the rest is left in the dark, behind a closed door, as if it didn't exist at all. As if we were alone in the world, and afraid to go out and face the emptiness that surrounds us. Only then we are completely true, when nothing make us fear being silly or stupid or ignorant or cruel. When there is no one to judge us, but ourselves. When we can say aloud what we would never dare telling anyone, not our lover, not our mother, not our closest friends. We all have a hidden life, one that we keep in the dark all the time - and we are only absolutely true when we need not cover it, for there's no one to see or hear it. In the rest of the time, which is most of the time, we wear a mask. Or masks, several masks, the one that suits best each occasion. We wear it, and we believe it, and everything goes just fine, as it should go. Everything else is left behind in a closed room, deep into the darkest recesses of our mind.