Like what we choose to believe.
Some people choose to believe that two thousand years miraculously a man returned from the dead. And that there is an almighty creator that watches over single little thin we do. The desire, need to believe in something greater than ourselves gives them comfort. (Or does it? Or is it simply cultural conditioning?)
I choose to believe, want to believe, that what you feel is what Hilmarsdóttir from Of Monsters And Men wrote in a delightful, yet ever so sad for me, song.
Because somehow I have interiorised that I know what you feel better than you do because you are so messed up.
And it would give me comfort to think thy that is what you really feel. But I don't know. I don't actually know.
You could have just been fooling me, and fooling yourself all those months, living a fantasy.
I just choose to believe, want to, need to believe that it wasn't a fantasy, that it was real, that it had meaning. But that's what I felt.
What we choose to believe is sometimes not rational...