Honesty and truth
aren’t always contradictory beliefs
but they are often
necessities we choose between,
like life and death
and love and relationships.
We stood on the stoop,
looked backwards,
and knew that we were seeing
different things
out on the street, where it was raining.
One saw condensation
and perpetual reincarnation,
and the other
saw warmth and wetness and a good time,
a reason to stay in and a chance to go out,
make a memory, drip down into the vents
and the sewer grates,
string these thoughts into a story.

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