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Lies and the Truth
she lived,
believing a lie
believing in that beautiful façade
that beautiful unwavering façade,
oh she lived.
she thought
it was real
knew it was real.
it was real, it had to be.
it was as solid and permanent and steady
as the concrete sidewalks of the city.
she thought too much about it
that she believed it.
oh she thought.
she didn't know
knew nothing of the vision
nothing of the obscurity of the mirage,
the mirage so beautifully constant
it wasn't a mirage at all,
but the truth.
reality.
oh she didn't know.
she traversed those sidewalks,
didn't know about the mirage,
believed in that façade
because that was her reality.
and then day
she opened her eyes--no
something caused her to wake up.
and when she did,
the sidewalk became
a road of eggshells,
the façade, her stronghold,
was reduced to rubble,
the mirage faded
and sank into the distance,
and her reality was a lie...
oh how she lived
transforming lies into
the truth,
then everything crumbled.
but someone helped her rebuild,
salvage the good bricks,
and separate lies she told herself
from the truth.
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I recently had something like this happen to me. And I think the problem is that once you realize you're walking on eggshells, you tend to be exponentially more cautious.