Lie

The lie was just so perfect.
It was round and smooth and shiny.
I could see myself reflected in it so well.
While simultaneously seeing the whole world through it.
And if its curves distorted anything
it was only to make a more beautiful reality.
I could only smile when I looked at it.

It was so unlike truths I’d had before,
all opaque and unpolished
old and dusty.
Something that could be seen
but just couldn’t be seen through.

The lie curved to fit beautifully into my hand.
Every finger had a place.
It wasn’t jagged at all the way truths are when you hold them.
It didn’t leave splinters.
It felt so good.
I could carry it in my hand and not even notice it was there.
Unless I needed to caress it
for comfort

I was so happy when they gave it to me.
I’d seen the lie before.
Here and there in bits and pieces.
It was really quite popular.
I knew lots of people who held it.
So when it was finally passed to me
I felt so superior to those still walking around
with only truths
or maybe questions
or maybe nothing at all.

And the people who gave it to me
were so sincere.
They’d held the lie until it had become a part of them.
Many had used the lie to prop up
a life that I
envied.

And when I looked through the lie
I saw you.
And when you looked through the lie
you saw me.
And we liked what we saw.

And at speeds neither of us could discern
because the lie’s refraction distorted our speeds
we came closer and closer to each other
meeting together at the lie
and shattering it.

And it hurt.
And the lie shattered into truth
and little shiny pieces of it embedded into our skin
And they bleed.
And they scar.

And I look at you
without the lie.
And I like what I see.
but I see something else
than I saw  with the lie.
And I know you think you can only be beautiful
when seen through the lie.

And I pick up the
Old, dusty, opaque, unpolished, and splintery truth
that I’d put down when they gave me the lie.
And I used it as a crutch,

And I ask you to come with me
and I don’t know if you will.
but I hope so.