#familiarstrangers

I can't help but wonder about people carrying a trumpet and a clouk of a curtain believe, you know the type where their beliefs sit tight on them as if it's their skin.

They carry these values and makes sure you take note

When it suites them these values on desplay escapes them.

So it comes to the day where something sharp harted is said, not to harm or cut... Rather to remind them of this 'skin'

That's where you see the display crumble; the cloak they carry is deteriorating, something small is spread thin through circles of familiar strangers.

So the final line is drawn, things needed to be said for the cloak bearer to understand their actions, they will be judged by the cloak they wear.

But the chitter chatter of hatred and lies gets spread, and judgements cuts are made by familiar strangers, the effect is a ear piercing sound of trumpet. The hurt caused by a clouk bearer's delusion is lingering; it strikes at anyone with an ear.

Many years of silence from target layers lay the foundation of delusions the cloak bearer craves on, it strengthens the strike and thinks it carries the approval. You might not understand the silence from targets; the cloak bearer has a shield, a shield made up of kindness and natural goodness. Everyone wants part of the shields, so the price they pay is silence. Unfortunately, the values are blended into ego now; there is no way of backing down. The incident is escalating from a verbal altercation to an apparent attack. Mad at the familiar stanger calling her out, reminding her that even the cloak she's wearing speaks against her actions.

How is it that a cloak bearer wants to be known by the cloak they wear, but only when it suits them!

I can't help but wonder about the people who carry a trumpet in hand and a cloak of virtue.

Both are intoxicating.

The trumpet announces their values before they even enter the room. The cloak wraps them in righteousness. They wear both proudly and make sure everyone notices. Until it no longer suits them.

Then the values slip. The cloak tears at the seams. All it takes is something small. Something light-hearted. Not a weapon. Not a wound. Just a comment that wasn't meant to cut. And suddenly the performance begins to crumble.

Whispers travel through circles of familiar strangers. Stories grow legs. Tiny moments are stretched thin until they become something unrecognizable.

Then the line is finally drawn. Someone speaks. Someone dares to hold the cloak bearer accountable. Dares to remind them that if they wish to be known by the values they wear, they will also be judged by them.

But accountability sounds like persecution to those who have mistaken virtue for identity. The whispers become accusations. The accusations become judgments.

And the trumpet screams. Its sound is deafening.

The hurt caused by the cloak bearer lingers long after the noise fades. It strikes anyone close enough to hear it.

Years of silence from those caught in its path only strengthen the illusion. Every unchallenged action becomes another brick in the foundation of their delusion. Every bowed head feels like approval.

But silence is rarely agreement. Sometimes silence is the price people pay because the cloak bearer carries a shield. A shield built from genuine kindness. Real goodness. The parts of them that people love. Everyone wants access to that shield. So they swallow their words. They absorb the damage. They stay quiet. And the cloak bearer mistakes that silence for innocence.

Eventually, the values become tangled with ego. So tightly woven together that removing one would tear apart the other. Now there is no retreat. No reflection. No accountability. Only escalation.

What began as a conversation becomes an attack. Now released as an inner struggle. Not because they were harmed. But because someone reminded them that the cloak they wear doesn't match their actions.