Truth is silent.
It waits in a dark corner,
unseen, unadorned.
You do not find it among the others -
the climate there is too hostile.
And yet, at times, it longs for touch,
for truly being seen,
rather than merely whispering to itself in the shadows.
It has learned that people look away
from what is simple.
From anything that refuses to shine.
So it hides in two places:
within the ordinary, the almost invisible -
or it clothes itself in illusion.
Adorning itself in borrowed light,
yet secretly hoping
that someone will see beyond the display,
beyond the shimmer,
and desire it —
for what it truly is.
But most who encounter it
become captivated by the radiance
and never discover
that the real thing
was so much more.
Illusion makes her visible,
but in the wrong way.
Truth moves on -
like a light that drifts across a wall
when no one is watching.
Illusion -
remains behind,
enclosed within its own shimmer,
hoping that someone,
one day,
will glimpse the contours beyond it
and recognize
what had always been there.
