You, who for some infallible reason, was weeping, said-
"You are lying, and that makes me sad."
"But I never told you a single lie."
As soon as I said that, you started crying once more.

I used to reassure myself,
When the paper airplane that I threw-
Full of my foolish whishes that seemed so beautiful at that time-
that didn't reach the sky, but instead
came back down to my feet-
"It was just too far away.
That's all.
That's all."

And-
there was a time when I climbed the side of a radio tower,
repeating desperately to myself that the stars up there were not a myth.
At the top,
overlooking the city,
I tired to reach those lights.
"..I'm just not tall enough."

Now,
I think to myself,
my beliefs are just a mirror,
Reflecting my repeating delusions of a perfect world.
But when that mirror,
that sick fantasy,
that desperate,
oblivious
illusion shatters-
There is nothing but shards of dust left on your palms.

Did you know?
I am scared of the moon.
Mainly,
because I think, sometimes,
"That could be me, up there."
With no light of my own to shine upon the world, only reflecting what others saw.  
But, still.
The sun's warmth was too brilliant and bright,
my pupils couldn't help but dilute every time I faced it.

I've almost given up on the exuseful theory,
that everything in the world is masked
beautifully.
And that only the gifted,
and few,
could unveil that ugly screen,
and see the true façade underneath.

Until I have found a warmth untriumpthed by any other,
until I find a kindness that lets me say-
"Thank you, Thank you, Thank you-"
Over and Over and Over again,
Until I find a feeling that makes me feel like the world,
is somehow,
sometimes,
beautiful,
I guess,
I'll try to stop making excuses for everything-
and accept the fact
that the world
has its secrets too.