The Truth After Midnight
I have learned that most people do not want the truth.
They want a safe lie with good lighting and some friends standing beside it.
The truth usually comes late.
It smells like rain, cold coffee, and the inside of a bar after the music stops.
It sits across from you without smiling.
It tells you she is not coming back.
It tells you the dream was never a plan.
It tells you you wasted years waiting for permission from people who barely noticed you were alive.
And if you are lucky, really lucky,
the truth leaves one small thing on the table:
tomorrow.
Not hope.
Not forgiveness.
Just tomorrow.
And sometimes that is enough to get a man out of his chair.