" the dark side of truth"

He was suffering from a metastatic cancer, and to our knowledge his lung cancer had even invaded his brain cells. He was dying by all prognostic parameters and his treatment had been tailored to a palliative care.

He was forgetful, and happy. I was happy for his forgetfulness as I knew that he was not dying of a loss of a tomorrow. His ending was without struggles of beginning; no remembrance of how, what, if and but of anything.

One day he told me that he wanted to live forever, and that he might beat his cancer. Then he asked me to tell him the truth whether he was going to make it.

I stood there in silence, hoping that he may forget his question soon, and to my relief he did.

Some words are too weak to carry the burden of a truth. The dark side of the truth is the cross over of words, the notion of telling the truth. The hardest truth is listening the truth about oneself.

I saw that day a circle of compassion; words losing meaning, silence taking over. and the action of inaction doing wonders.