I observed the world through a window. The sun sets, it was dusk. First the sky was faint pink. Buildings shone the bright salmon pink, a gift from the Sun before he sets. Then follows a less vibrant and more mysterious purple-blue. The clock continues to tick. Finally, now, the buildings shine void black. How time flows is smooth, if not rapidly. Perhaps we are just growing impatient over everything even without realizing. Or our minds share a mutual belief that time flies when having fun, and that our combined mind-powers granted so.

Which would be more wise; keeping the truths from others and suffer in silence, or spill out the truth as a form of gamble for sympathy or embarrassment?