Smoke and mirrors..

....what is...what isn't. Like the truth, glimpses of light refracting off a shiny surface, partially hidden by fragile wisps of smoke....

Magic exists, because we want it to. Because we need it to. And for that moment, there is no reality, only the truth that we want to see... brilliantly naked, suddenly masked, as fleeting as water through your fingers. Yet, it lingers, like the indelible ink of a passionately wrought tattoo. Fading with time, it's splendour lost with the tautness of youth, yet, not forgotten....

Voilà! The six of spades, a paper cut caricature, tiny hands cradling your face, shivering as hailstones pelt the ledge with missile like intensity, an insistently wet nose, the coy pull of freshly baked bread... Every single time, ensnaring you, holding you in thrall, it's power immutable...... Why?? Forty years on, why is it still magic?

But you can kill it. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. A minuscule tweak of an angle turns wisps into a cauldron of fog obliterating what we want to see. Was it ever there to begin with? Maybe. Maybe not.....Does it matter?

It was my truth anyway......