There is a lie you partake in. It’s beautiful so much that you do anything to not let it break. It’s so carefully constructed that you can’t see the truth that has been buried behind it. If at all the truth tries to find it’s way out, you quickly find that beautiful lie to cover it with. I was a part of a lie too, so beautiful that nothing else has ever come close. It was my seed, but two other people watered it daily, one more than the other. It grew so big that it consumed me. The truth came forward many times trying to talk to me. I didn’t want to hear it because of the two people who kept my beautiful lie safe for me. I knew the seed was faulty, something I had scrounged for in the storm. The thick foliage seemed too good to be true, but those two made me believe and I believed because I wanted to. Then one day they stopped, leaving the lie there. It didn’t grow, but it didn’t die as well. It’s still in my backyard the beautiful lie one of the best I have seen. I go back to it even now, when no one comes there anymore. My lie carefully grown by the two who don’t exist anymore. Their words are still hanging there, their impression still lingers ages after they stopped nurturing the lie. The truth is poking out, marring the beauty but I can only look at the lie. Alone I visit it again and again to look at the lie. My beautiful lie, so carefully constructed by the two, one more than the other.