Somehow

Somehow he never quite told the truth.
He lived in a different world, but no one could tell.
You see, he had a way with words.
It's a pity he hid behind them. Otherwise someone might have helped.
Or maybe hiding saved him. It's hard to say.
Words have no face, but they can describe one.
Words don't know people, but they can fool them.
Somehow he never quite told the truth.
But the truth is hard to tell when you don't really know it.
And words, often repeated, seem true.

He took shelter in a different world, but no one could tell.
You see, he had a way with people.
It's a pity he never showed them his other world. They might have helped.
Or maybe keeping it safe protected him. It's hard to say.
People can't save, but they can lend a hand.
People can't understand, but they can listen.
Somehow he never quite told the truth.
But the truth is hard to tell when it hurts people.
And people, often hurt, fade away.

You see, he had a way of thinking.
It's a pity he got stuck in his way. Otherwise he might have escaped.
Or maybe his thoughts opened doors to do good. It's hard to say.
Thoughts don't speak loudly, but they can run wild.
Thoughts aren't the end, but they chart the course.
Somehow he never quite told the truth.
But the truth is hard to remember when thoughts are in the way.
And thoughts, often entertained, become reality.

It's a pity he spent so much time on it. Otherwise he might have moved on.
Or maybe his time alone taught him to love. It's hard to say.
Time shows no mercy, but it can heal.
Time doesn't wait, but it measures change.
Somehow he never quite told the truth.
But the truth is hard to face when you notice lost time.
And time, often ignored, slips away.

Maybe his other world was the real one. It's hard to say.
Society can't know, but it offers an answer.
Society doesn't care, but it wants to define him.
Somehow he never quite told the truth.
But the truth gets lost in the shadows when society speaks.
And society, often heeded, becomes a prophet.

Pain has no friends, but it teaches compassion.
Pain makes messes of lives, but it refines.
Somehow he never quite told the truth.
But the truth is hard to forget when all you can feel is pain.
And pain, often medicated, loses its purpose.

Happiness cannot be bought, but it comes at a price.
Somehow he never quite told the truth.
But the truth is hard to ignore when it leads you toward happiness.
And happiness, often tasted, deepens the thirst for more.

Somehow he never quite told the truth.
But the truth is hard to deny after living life.
And life, often contemplated, reveals the way.

The truth, as they say, sets you free when you find it.
And progress, often sought after, becomes a pattern.

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