All the Same

Too many times we live in someone else's make believe. Truth really isn't that hard to conceive we spend too much time consummating someone else's cares. So much time wasted in our head, there's never enough day to act on changed minds. Starting again in the same sun rise always surprised by yesterday's acts. Hearts dead set on what ought to be. Never considering who you are to me. A difficult problem to define but always an answer I can name. Wrap my fingers around and caress it ever so simply. From atoms in the physical to energy in my mental the answer falls like rain and never stains this knowing. Gifted from the spiritual, passed through metaphysical, and accounted as a glitch of what should not be. Still the answer remains clear. No one else has to believe my make believe. Can you feel it? The way your soul shifted and absorbed the brightness of your facial expression. How in the world could anyone answer that? I guess it doesn't hurt to ask. But it's known all the same