People, like houses, hold their secrets.
Sometimes, the secret inhabit them, sometimes they inhabit their secrets.
They wrap their arms tight to hug them close, twist their tongues around the truth.
But after time truth prevails, rises above all else.
It squirms and wriggles inside, grows until the swollen tongue can't wrap itself around the lies any longer, until the time comes when it needs to spit the words out and send truth flying in he air and crashing into the world.
Truth and time always work alongside one another.
People, unlike parcels, hide secrets, who cover themslves with layers until they present themselves to the right ones who can unwrap them and see inside.
Sometimes you have to give yourself to somebody in order to see who you are.
Sometimes you have to unravel things to get to the core.
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