Willingly bound by our interlaced fingers,
we left the masquerade early.

We admitted that pretending to be someone else was exhausting,
and getting to know facades of fictitious people was a grotesque waste of time.

The desire to be understood far outweighed the fear of judgement.
Somewhere, in a world all our own, we shed our disguises.

Naked and vulnerable we shared the things we thought were repulsive,
and discovered that once trusted with someone else they could become beautiful.