There was something she didn’t share, but knew.
She held it, close, against her heart. A snuggle for her spirit. They could not take away what they did not realize she understood.
So she hid her comprehension. Her perceptions. Her realizations that what was presented as truth, was not.
Real Truth, that which resonated with her soul, was different. It sang.
She’d been quite young when she’d learned how to discern the babble from the song. It hadn’t been easy to maintain Truth, to blanket her face with masks of complacent adoration. Still she labored at it, keeping hope afloat.
For the RDP Sunday prompt: Truth