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I learned that lies
don’t always arrive loudly.
Sometimes they come softly,
wrapped in kind words,
patient smiles,
and promises that sound like peace.
You came to me
with what looked like sincerity.
You spoke like a man
who understood how to treat a woman,
like someone who had learned
from his past.
And I wanted to believe you.
The truth is
my heart never rushed toward you.
There were no butterflies,
no spark pulling me closer.
But I told myself
that maybe love doesn’t always start that way.
So I took a chance.
I chose possibility over instinct,
hope over hesitation.
I thought maybe kindness
could grow into something deeper,
maybe attraction could learn its way in.
But feelings
should never have to be forced.
Looking back now,
I see the quiet warnings
I tried to silence.
The uneasiness I brushed aside.
The moments that didn’t quite add up.
The subtle feeling
that something inside me
was trying to pull away.
God was whispering then.
Through my doubts.
Through my hesitation.
Through the absence of the feelings
I kept trying to create.
But I convinced myself
that patience meant faith,
that ignoring my intuition
was just giving someone a fair chance.
And eventually
the truth did what truth always does
it revealed itself.
Because lies can only wear a mask
for so long
before the seams begin to show
and a person’s real colors
bleed through.
Now I understand.
Some lessons don’t come gently.
Some lessons arrive
after the disappointment,
after the confusion,
after the mask falls to the floor.
But this one
I will carry forward:
When God shows me the signs,
I will listen.
When my spirit feels silence
where love should live,
I will trust it.
And I will never again
convince my heart
to stay somewhere
it never wanted to be.
