It creeps up on us slowly.
This realisation that it's impossible
To know someone through the words they write.
But even more so,
To know someone through the words they speak.
And so I prefer to write,
As honestly as I possibly can:
Picking and choosing words that fit best
Agonising over choice.
But all that's left in the end
Is your disbelief at everything I've said
When will you realise
That if I was making it up,
I wouldn't care about my words half as much,
And your disbelief would mean nothing at all.
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