It does not shout.
It waits,
still,
unmoving,
until you are ready
to stop pretending.

Truth has no mercy,
but it has no malice either.
It simply is.

You reach for it
thinking it will free you.
And it does,
but not before it
breaks something
you were clinging to.

Illusions fall quietly,
like ash after a fire.
There is no applause,
only silence.

But in that silence
a different kind of peace begins,
not soft,
but solid.

And you learn
that the hurt was not the truth itself,
only your refusal
to see it sooner.