{"id":930,"date":"2026-05-20T13:30:00","date_gmt":"2026-05-20T13:30:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/wordsfly.org\/?p=930"},"modified":"2026-05-13T14:40:52","modified_gmt":"2026-05-13T14:40:52","slug":"delusions","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wordsfly.org\/it\/2026\/05\/20\/delusions\/","title":{"rendered":"Delusions"},"content":{"rendered":"

Reading time: 19 minutes<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

I sat in class when Delilah finally arrived\u2014bright as ever, smiling like the world hadn\u2019t done anything wrong. She moved toward her desk, and for a moment everything felt normal. Then someone stepped in her way. They were practically buzzing, grinning like they\u2019d been waiting all morning for this one reaction. I watched Delilah pause, tilt her head, and accept the poster the boy handed her. Her smile landed like it belonged there\u2014effortless, deserved. I envied her. The thought made me uneasy. Was it healthy to feel this way? Probably not. I was furious\u2014at them, at everyone\u2014at the way life had worn the happiness out of me until I couldn\u2019t find it anymore. The good things that happened to me didn\u2019t fix anything. They only sharpened the contrast, like proof that something was still missing. And then Delilah crossed the space between us and slapped the poster against my desk, her excitement spilling over the edges.<\/p>\n\n\n\n


\u201cChloe!\u201d It startled me so badly I almost looked up too fast.
\u201cYes?\u201d
\u201cYou wanna go to this party?\u201d she asked, fanning the invite like it was a festival brochure. It was Melissa\u2019s birthday party. A poster for a party. How childish. Melissa\u2014queen-bee, crown-wannabe, cool-kid on a schedule. I couldn\u2019t care less. Except Delilah cared. And somehow, that made it harder to refuse.
\u201cSure,\u201d I said, even though my voice sounded flatter than I meant it to. \u201cWe\u2019ll go.\u201d
\u201cYay!\u201d Delilah beamed. \u201cGreat. Now we just need good outfits. Do you have one?\u201d
\u201cYeah\u2026 I\u2019ll find something, I guess.\u201d
\u201cOkay. Just so you know,\u201d she began, already leaning into the story, \u201cMelissa\u2019s parties are usually\u2026\u201d
\u201cSettle down, it\u2019s time for class,\u201d Mr. Arthur cut in as he stepped into the room.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I leaned back in my seat, pretending to listen. Curiosity tugged at me anyway\u2014because Delilah would\u2019ve said something she wanted me to hear. Some warning. Some hint about how messy it could get.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But anyone with a brain could guess. This was a classroom full of teenagers who, in a few months or years, would suddenly be expected to know how to be adults. The worst stage, but somehow the most important\u2014life never really got easier, not from what I\u2019d seen. Adults only acted like it did. Like they\u2019d escaped the trap. Maybe it was different for others. I wouldn\u2019t know. I really wouldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

***<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was finally home in my bedroom, where the silence felt heavier than usual\u2014because Mom wasn\u2019t around. Thank God. I couldn\u2019t handle her right now. Not after what happened last month.
I stared at my empty wardrobe until my thoughts drifted somewhere I didn\u2019t want them to go. Hopelessness pooled in my chest like something I couldn\u2019t swallow or spit out. If I asked Mom for anything\u2014if I even tried\u2014she wouldn\u2019t just say no. She\u2019d make it sound like my needs were an inconvenience. Like I was already too much. Like I was a burden with legs. And maybe I was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All I wanted was to look different tonight. Different in a way that would make me feel like I belonged. Like people wouldn\u2019t look at me and quietly decide I was temporary. I\u2019d never belonged anywhere. I just shoved myself into places I didn\u2019t fit, like if I pushed hard enough, the world would eventually make room. But what hurt the most wasn\u2019t only that I didn\u2019t fit. It was that my \u201cdifference\u201d wasn\u2019t even something I could fix with effort\u2014 one, because it wasn\u2019t something wrong with me at all, and two, because it wasn\u2019t my fault. That didn\u2019t make it easier.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then I saw the dress.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Black. Small. More than that\u2014it was tailored in a way that would actually fit. A perfect option for a room full of people who probably didn\u2019t think about what clothes meant until they were standing in front of mirrors like mine. I didn\u2019t smile when I picked it up. Relief came instead, sharp and small, like a bandage over something infected. Because even if I found enough \u201csmall\u201d comforts to get through the night, it wouldn\u2019t change anything about my real escape. It wouldn\u2019t get me out of my own head. It wouldn\u2019t save me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

***<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That night, I finished dinner quickly. When Mom went back to whatever mood she lived in, I slipped out with a quiet \u201cgoodnight,\u201d then rushed upstairs like speed could protect me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I got ready for Melissa\u2019s party.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I used my mother\u2019s makeup\u2014careful, like stealing could be quieter if I moved slower. Mascara brought out my lashes, thin but long enough to look dramatic if I let them. Chapstick gave my mouth that warm, polished shine. I stared at the foundation, then pushed it aside. A mask, sure. But not a whole new person. In the mirror, I looked different\u2014just different enough to almost fool me. Even before everything happened to me, I\u2019d never seen myself as beautiful. Not really. I didn\u2019t care what strangers thought, or what friends might say if they tried to be kind\u2014because kindness didn\u2019t change what the mirror insisted on showing me. I never looked \u201cright,\u201d never looked like someone people would be proud to stand next to. Not as a friend. Not as anything else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That feeling wasn\u2019t always this loud. At some point, I\u2019d learned how to push it away. Like if I ignored it long enough, it would tire out. But now there was nothing holding it back. Bad thoughts flooded in without permission. I couldn\u2019t come to peace with my face. With my body. With myself. Or maybe it wasn\u2019t even about the way I looked. Maybe it was just me\u2014another girl stuck in the impossible loop of comparing herself to \u201cnormal.\u201d Delilah\u2019s normal. I pressed my palms to my cheeks as if I could physically hold the panic in place. Then the comparison became a sentence that wouldn\u2019t end. Like a curse. Like a trap. And I began to cry. Tears ruined the eye makeup instantly\u2014smudging the liner I\u2019d tried so hard to make sharp. Of course they did. Of course my face had to betray me at the exact wrong moment. I stared at my reflection, at the messy streaks, and then\u2014without warning\u2014my mouth pulled into something that wasn\u2019t a smile. I smeared glitter over the tears anyway. It looked pretty. Too pretty. Like a disaster dressed up as art. For a second, it made me feel like I could mask the pain successfully\u2014sooner than I thought. When I was done, I stopped looking at my whole body in the mirror. I couldn\u2019t afford to linger in the wrong version of myself. I turned toward the window. And before I could overthink it, before fear could win, I leaped out\u2014no second thoughts\u2014then ran straight to Melissa\u2019s house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

***<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stand at the front door with my hand still hovering over the knob, like I\u2019m waiting for permission from the building itself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I can feel the fabric against my skin, the way it settles when I breathe. Instead it feels like I\u2019m wearing someone else\u2019s idea of confidence.The party had already started.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I can hear the bass through the walls before I can even see anything. It pulses in a steady rhythm that makes my chest react, like my heartbeat wants to sync up and be useful. Then there\u2019s the other sound underneath\u2014laughter, voices overlapping, music too bright to be casual. My depression isn\u2019t a slow sadness tonight. It\u2019s an immediate, physical alarm. It tells me I\u2019m about to walk into a room that will swallow me whole\u2014too many people, too much noise, too many eyes that won\u2019t land on me gently. The thought loops: If I go in, I\u2019ll feel small. If I stay out, I\u2019ll feel pathetic for not going.<\/em> Either way, I lose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Except Delilah invited me. Then I turn it. The door knob.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The door swings inward and the lights hit me like a wave\u2014strobe flashes and colored washes that make the world look unreal, like I\u2019ve stepped into a music video where I don\u2019t know the choreography. The smell is stronger inside, clinging to everything: hair, clothes, air. It\u2019s warm and sour at the same time, and my brain is trying to label it faster than it can process it. Sound comes next. It\u2019s not just loud. It\u2019s everywhere.<\/em> It vibrates through my ribs, rattling my concentration. I can\u2019t hold one thought for long because another sensation will always replace it: the thump of the bass, the bright flicker of light, a burst of laughter that sounds too close to my ear, the clink of glass.
I take one step and my body registers it like danger. My shoulders tighten. My breathing turns shallow without me asking it to. I tell myself: Just stand there. Just let it pass. You can leave whenever you want. <\/em>But I don\u2019t move back out. I don\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I cross the threshold because I came here to prove something to myself, even if I can\u2019t name what it is yet. Proof that I can step into a room like this. Delilah spots me almost immediately, like she\u2019s been watching for the exact moment I\u2019d show up. She waves with her whole arm. When she smiles, it feels like someone opened a window in my chest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHey!\u201d she says, and her voice cuts through the noise better than mine ever seems to. I force my lips into something that resembles a smile. \u201cI made it.\u201d She throws her arms around me so quickly I almost flinch. When she pulls back, she keeps talking nonstop, guiding me like I\u2019m not drowning. \u201cCome on\u2014over here!\u201d she says, and she starts moving. I follow, because if I stop, the anxiety has room to grow legs. We weave through people. The crowd presses close and then parts, close and parts\u2014like a living thing that can\u2019t decide whether it likes you. Someone brushes my arm. I feel the friction of a stranger\u2019s sleeve against my skin. I don\u2019t know how to react\u2014apologize? glare? shrink? I do none of those. I just keep walking, letting her steer me around the sharp edges. Then we stop and she begins talking to some people from our class. I space out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The alcohol smell gets stronger as I move deeper into the room. My eyes water from the lights. My head feels too full, like my thoughts are packed in there with nowhere to go. I realize I\u2019ve been clenching my jaw, and I can\u2019t tell when I started. My depression tries another angle\u2014What are you doing here? You look ridiculous. You\u2019ll ruin someone\u2019s night. You\u2019re only a burden. <\/em>I hate how familiar the words are. They always show up at the worst times. Delilah laughs at something someone says and it pulls me back, just enough. I glance toward her, grateful to have a single focal point. But even she can\u2019t shield me from everything. The party is still the party\u2014bright, loud, insistent. I feel the moment where I might shut down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And then\u2014because the universe loves timing in ways I never asked for\u2014I notice a person standing a little apart from the crush. Not isolated, exactly. Just\u2026 positioned.<\/em> Like he\u2019s found his place in the chaos without getting swallowed by it. His shoulders are loose. He\u2019s not braced against the noise. When he turns his head, it feels like the room shifts. His gaze lands on me and doesn\u2019t slide off quickly like so many do. He looks at me like he\u2019s actually seeing me, not just scanning for someone to entertain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Something in my chest loosens. It\u2019s not happiness yet. It\u2019s not a crush like in movies. It\u2019s smaller than that\u2014more real. Like my body recognizes a chance to breathe. He says something\u2014low enough that I have to angle my ear toward him to catch it. But the sound isn\u2019t swallowed completely by the music. It reaches me clearly enough for me to answer. \u201cHi,\u201d I say, and my voice surprises me by coming out steadier than I feel. He smiles. Not wide, not performative. Just\u2026 there. As if the smile belongs to him naturally, like he doesn\u2019t need the party to justify it. \u201cHey,\u201d he says back. His tone is calm in a way that makes my skin recognize safety. Delilah is still somewhere nearby, but she\u2019s become background noise. The lights keep flashing. The alcohol smell keeps wrapping around everything. Someone passes us holding a drink that\u2019s already sweating. I can hear a burst of laughter and the echo of it. But I\u2019m talking now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He asks me something simple\u2014what I\u2019m drinking, if I\u2019m okay, whether I want to step a little closer to the quieter edge of the room. He doesn\u2019t say it like a checklist. He asks like my answer matters. My depression expects dismissal. It expects pressure. It expects the world to treat me like an inconvenience. Instead, I\u2019m treated like a person. So I answer honestly, even though honesty feels dangerous. \u201cI\u2019m\u2026 overwhelmed,\u201d I admit, and the words leave me before I can protect myself with humor. \u201cIt\u2019s a lot.\u201d He nods like I didn\u2019t say something embarrassing. Like overwhelm is something he understands, not something he judges. \u201cThen we\u2019ll do it your way,\u201d he says. \u201cCome\u2014just for a minute. Let\u2019s get air.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He guides me, not yanking, not pulling\u2014just offering space. We move away from the densest cluster, toward a pocket where the music is still there but it\u2019s not beating against my skull. The lights flicker less intensely here. The air smells still like alcohol, but it feels less suffocating, like I can breathe without feeling punished for existing.
My shoulders drop a fraction again. It\u2019s almost unbearable how much a small kindness can feel like an emergency exit. I realize I haven\u2019t been standing like a statue anymore. I\u2019m actually\u2026 standing. Living inside my body. The sensation is weirdly intimate, like I\u2019m remembering I\u2019m connected to the world. He talks to me over the music. He makes me laugh once, and the laugh catches me off guard. It feels wrong\u2014like laughing here will make the depression come back harder later\u2014but I laugh anyway, because the sound of it is proof that I\u2019m still capable of something other than surviving.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Time gets slippery.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We dance for a while, not like we\u2019re trying to impress anyone\u2014just like we\u2019re trying to find rhythm with each other. My movements feel awkward at first, clumsy under the weight of my anxiety. But he keeps adjusting to me\u2014mirroring, giving me space, letting the moment be messy. I don\u2019t feel judged. I feel safe enough to be imperfect. And in that moment, I understand something about him that I didn\u2019t expect: he doesn\u2019t seem interested in breaking me open. He seems interested in meeting me where I am. That\u2019s rare. I look at him and it feels like the night has one thread, thin but real, pulling me forward instead of letting my depression drag me under.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We stop by a wall, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him without it being overwhelming. The party continues around us\u2014loud, glittering, messy. But I\u2019m no longer trapped inside it. I\u2019m choosing my distance. I\u2019m choosing the way I\u2019m in it. And then, for the first time tonight, my mind stops trying to predict disaster. It just stays with him. Just with the lights. Just with the music. Just with the fact that I\u2019m here, alive, not disappearing. I still feel fragile. I still feel like the overwhelm could come back at any second. But it\u2019s not in control. Not right now.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He then asks this question. A question that I should have expected at a party.
 \u201cDo you want alcohol or\u2014\u201d He didn\u2019t finish the sentence; instead, he pulled out a sachet. It had a few pills inside. Under the crazy party lights, everything looked too blurred to tell their colour properly\u2014bright flashes, sharp shadows, my eyes struggling to focus while my pulse kept doing its own thing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I knew they were drugs. And still\u2014some weird, reckless part of me didn\u2019t judge him. Not because I was careless, but because I wanted an escape more than I wanted caution. His confidence should\u2019ve been a red flag. It should\u2019ve made me step back. Instead, my lips formed a soft smile. I leaned into the moment, a little too bold. I could feel my anxiety turning into something cockier, something daring.
 \u201cNo, I\u2019m good.\u201d He watched me like he was trying to read whether I was lying. Then I kept dancing\u2014letting the rhythm carry me, letting my body answer for me. I flowed with the music like I belonged here, like the lights weren\u2019t assaulting my senses. But he kept looking. His glance felt harsh, like a challenge disguised as contempt. I could almost feel him grinning before he even moved. Then he joined me in dancing anyway. My favourite song was playing\u2014louder, warmer, faster\u2014and it was actually\u2026 fun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When the music stopped, the gap between us disappeared. It happened without warning; I fumbled, the crowd shifted, and suddenly I was right there beside him. Our noses were barely an inch away. Another song started playing\u2014slow this time, softer, like the party was giving us a private pocket inside the noise. We both smiled at each other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I kept finding myself staring at his lips. I wanted relief. Not necessarily from him\u2014just from everything else. From my head. From my life at home. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the moment that made me forget. We collided anyway\u2014my mistake, his choice, both of us leaning in. I felt his hands on my waist, pulling me closer like he already knew the shape of what he wanted from me. His body felt warm against mine. The lights flickered across his face. And then I felt it\u2014heat and confusion at the same time. He was pulling me closer to him. Then I could feel it. Something hard. In my mouth. He had transferred the pill to my mouth. My mouth went slack for a second as I swallowed what he gave me, because part of me wanted the shift, wanted the way my thoughts might soften.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I opened my eyes fully. He opened his slowly too\u2014like he\u2019d been watching my reaction the whole time. A condescending look crossed his face, satisfied and superior, as if he\u2019d \u201cwon\u201d something. I accepted that look for what it was and gave him my defeat in the only way I could: a smile that said, Yes. You got what you wanted. <\/em>We stayed close, still tangled in the music and the kitchen corner that smelled like alcohol and late-night food. I almost forgot we were in Melissa\u2019s house. The world narrowed. He made me space out, made me forget everything I\u2019d been holding onto so tightly earlier. I didn\u2019t want to let go of this feeling. We finally climaxed\u2014emotionally, physically, the kind of intensity that leaves you shaking afterward even when you\u2019re standing still. We looked at each other, breathless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI won,\u201d he said. I looked at him and smiled.
\u201cDont get too cocky.\u201d
\u201cYou have a beautiful smile. May I have your name?\u201d
\u201cMia.\u201d I lied.
\u201cEnrique.\u201d He finally gave me his name. \u201cWell, Mia, you made my night. May I have your contact? I would like to keep in touch with you.\u201d
My stomach tightened for a second. I remembered something important: I don\u2019t have a phone. I didn\u2019t let it show, but I felt it hit me\u2014like a small cliff edge under my feet.Then I remembered I could still do something else.
\u201cOh,\u201d I said smoothly, forcing my voice steady. \u201cMy number isn\u2019t available right now, but I can give you my Instagram handle.\u201d
\u201cSure.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He handed me his phone. I typed my username with shaky focus, like my hands were suddenly aware that everything mattered now. I gave it back and he smiled. He looked at me again: that lustful glance, that condescending gaze. Before it registered in my mind, his hand was already on my hip. I felt like this whole night my body was being assessed. He pulled me close. His face was slowly approaching mine. Then when he was only micrometers away from my lips, he moved towards my ear and said, \u201cIt\u2019s getting late. Tonight was fun. We\u2019ll meet again, Miss Mia.\u201d
He then moved away from me and waved goodbye. As he left me there speechless, I was in utter shock and confusion. But I was also happy. Elated. I was a bit dizzy but I was fine. The mere thought of him made me sober. I did not like him. I wanted to use him as an escape from my family. I grinned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

***<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stepped into the apartment like the whole night was still clinging to me\u2014cold air in my hair, perfume and laughter that wouldn\u2019t quite wash off, my tight black dress suddenly feeling like a costume I couldn\u2019t take off fast enough. My mood was ruined in a way that didn\u2019t care what time it was. Nothing about the moment felt celebratory. The living room light snapped on. Yellow-white brightness sliced through the dark, and my stomach dropped before I even made it fully inside. My mom was there, upright on the couch, posture too controlled to be casual\u2014like she\u2019d been waiting and also preparing herself to be angry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cChloe,\u201d she said. The word hit like a warning shot. I didn\u2019t answer right away. Not because I didn\u2019t have something to say\u2014because I had too much. The ache in my chest didn\u2019t feel new. It felt old. It felt planted, watered, and grown into something I couldn\u2019t pretend was normal anymore. My hands curled at my sides. The makeup on my face felt heavy, like it belonged to someone else.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her voice was sharper when she stood. \u201cYou\u2019re late.\u201d
\u201cDon\u2019t,\u201d I managed, and it came out smaller than I meant. Smaller than the anger, smaller than the hurt.
\u201cDon\u2019t what?\u201d she demanded, stepping closer. \u201cDon\u2019t accuse me? Don\u2019t\u2014what\u2014pretend you don\u2019t know what I\u2019m trying to ask?\u201d
I finally looked at her directly. The room suddenly felt too bright, too close. \u201cYou want to know why I\u2019m like this?\u201d My voice rose, thin with something that wasn\u2019t just anger. \u201cBecause you caused it. Don’t do what you did last month. Don\u2019t do what you did last year.\u201d
Her expression shifted\u2014confusion flickered first, then hurt. But anger still won the race to her face. It always did.n\u201cI caused your depression?\u201d she repeated, like the words didn\u2019t make sense coming out of my mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt wasn\u2019t just one thing,\u201d I snapped. \u201cIt was everything. Every time you said I was too much. Every time you decided I was fine until I wasn\u2019t. Every time you acted like my feelings were nothing.Every time you mocked me for crying because apparently, \u2018Tears are for the weak.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo now I\u2019m the villain?\u201d she said, voice tight. I let out a short, bitter laugh. \u201cYou want a villain? I\u2019ll get you a family picture!\u201d We argued and argued, the way people do when they think volume will make the truth easier to hold. She kept trying to pull her meaning into the shape of care<\/em>. I kept hearing pressure<\/em> instead. The light didn\u2019t flicker, but it felt like the brightness kept climbing\u2014like the room was tightening around me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her voice cracked slightly, though she didn\u2019t soften. \u201cI was worried about you today. I even had to call your dad.  You are becoming such a pain. A burden.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust becoming. Be honest, mother. That\u2019s all I have ever been to you.\u201d I cut in. \u201cYou call it worry when it\u2019s really just you expecting me to fix myself fast enough to make you comfortable.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For a moment, the argument stalled\u2014not really stopped, just paused, like we both ran out of somewhere to put the next word. I could only hear myself breathing. Too fast. Too shallow. And then something inside me gave way. I tried to speak again, tried to keep my anger in place long enough to say what I needed to say\u2014but it slipped. My vision wavered, like the room was losing its agreement with reality. The light stayed steady, but the world around it didn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cChloe?\u201d my mom said, and in her voice I heard fear trying to break through the anger. I took a step back and my heel caught on the rug. My mouth opened. No sound came out. My legs didn\u2019t feel like mine anymore\u2014like my body had decided it was done cooperating. Her face changed too quickly. In a blink, her anger vanished and something panicked replaced it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My knees hit first. Then the rest of me fell, heavy and silent. For a second, there was only the sound of my mother\u2019s breath catching\u2014like she\u2019d just realized what had actually happened. Then she was rushing toward me, hands hovering as if she didn\u2019t know where to touch without making it worse.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cChloe\u2014Chloe, look at me. Stay with me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I tried to respond. I tried to fight the darkness pressing in at the edges. But the anger was gone now, drained out of me like color leaving a room. The only thing left was the numb weight of everything coming undone. Her voice rose, frantic, \u201cWait!\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u2026To be continued?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Reading time: 19 minutes I sat in class when Delilah finally arrived\u2014bright as ever, smiling like the world hadn\u2019t done anything wrong. She moved toward her desk, and for a moment everything felt normal. Then someone stepped in her way. They were practically buzzing, grinning like they\u2019d been waiting all morning for this one reaction.… Leggi tutto »Delusions<\/span><\/a><\/p>","protected":false},"author":15,"featured_media":859,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"neve_meta_sidebar":"","neve_meta_container":"","neve_meta_enable_content_width":"","neve_meta_content_width":0,"neve_meta_title_alignment":"","neve_meta_author_avatar":"","neve_post_elements_order":"","neve_meta_disable_header":"","neve_meta_disable_footer":"","neve_meta_disable_title":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[113],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-930","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fractured-echoes"],"yoast_head":"\nDelusions - Wordsfly<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/wordsfly.org\/it\/2026\/05\/20\/delusions\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"it_IT\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"Delusions - Wordsfly\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Reading time: 19 minutes I sat in class when Delilah finally arrived\u2014bright as ever, smiling like the world hadn\u2019t done anything wrong. 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