I began as a whisper,
a small, careful release
of neither lie nor truth.
A seed, no bigger than doubt.

I found my first ear, warm and willing.
I coiled like a tiny snake,
shed my first skin,
growing from each retelling.

Oh! I love the coffee-scented breaths,
the cool circulating breeze
from room to room, cubicle to cubicle.
I slid into keyboard keys,
into textbooks, into messages.

Sometimes, they tried to catch me,
the new one, eyes widened, bewildered,
but I have no form, no face,
merely an idea fattening
from each nodding head,
on glances, on shared thoughts.

I am the cold draft on the nape of the neck.
I am the subtle shift,
the distance, the silence.
I am the story everyone knows.

And I grow
to become the established truth.