R E A L I T Y: A façade.

I stare at the stars in awe,
and watch them twinkle,
and I whisper to myself,
you will be high up one there.

But then I grow up
and you tell me
the stars don’t twinkle
and they’re just small dots.

You tell me they’re
not where I think they are,
they’re not as beautiful
as I thought they were.

You tell me I’m not as
beautiful as I thought I was.
not as wondrous
as I thought the world was

You tell me the world runs
in a monotone of colors,
and a routine whipped to death
by mother nature.

You tell me there’s no
treasure at the end of the rainbow,
the sky is not actually blue,
and the stars are all dead.

The sun rises later than
I think it does.
The sun sets earlier than
I see it.

But then you talk of
my stars
and planets and all
these things I can’t fathom.

Then you tell me
all this is real
even though I can’t see it.

Is reality a robbery of this façade I made in my head?
Is this façade, beautiful beautiful façade in my head, reality?

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