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I Choose to Believe

I don’t mind and long to live
in the fiction you paint for me.
The glory and the genius
of the lies and fables
told without effort
by your nimble tongue;
honey and comfort,
so much better
than the truth of us.

Romance after all specializes
in complicated perjury,
and none are happy
with the darkness of light
where the genuine is seen
inferior to the life you invent
to protect me from
how we really are.

I adore your treachery
and only exist to bear your
false witness where everything
is an invention
with chocolate kisses,
faithful rain falling,
and no one knows
why the skies are blue.