Truth

The cold. The bleakness of my heart, my soul. The sun, staring down at me, feigning warmth. But I know its truth: It too is cold.

The clouds, pre­tend­ing they are soft.

The moon, pre­tend­ing to be all-­know­ing.

The only truth is in the glance of a fair-haired child, lost in the barefoot wonder of cotton candy.