Colors break and melt together,
as if truth were trying to escape the fire.
Shadows touch without recognizing each other,
light insists on staying, even when it hurts.
Sometimes the soul paints what it dares not say,
and every stroke becomes a reflection of what was,
of what could have been,
of what still burns.
Deception, a mirror I mistook for truth,
reflecting only what I wished to see.
Deception dressed in tenderness and light,
I called it love, until it turned away.
Related stories
The Fire Comes for Us: A Small Reflection