The truth does not require anyone's presence to exist, only lies do

The truth does not require anyone's presence to exist, only lies do, and I think about this, in an autumn twilight, when the leaves burn like lost dreams, when the light breaks into thousands of shards of memories, and each shard is a forgotten truth, but the lies, oh, the lies are carnivorous flowers growing in my heart and strangling my breath, and I wonder if there’s any way to escape them, to free myself, to fly again, but the sky is heavy, like an old burden, like a story told too many times, and the clouds weep tears of smoke and bitterness, and I remain here, caught between questions and silences, and time passes, flows like a river of illusions, and drowns me, pulls me into the depths, and in the depths, I find only shadows, and the shadows have voices, and the voices tell stories, and the stories are lies that pretend to be truths, and the truths get lost in labyrinths, and the labyrinths always lead to the same closed door, which I don’t have the courage to open, and I remain here, on its threshold, listening to the wind singing a sad melody, and I think of you, and of us, and of all we were and never were, and I wonder if our truth was ever true, or just another beautiful lie, and I wonder if there’s a place where lies die and truths live, and if that place is far away, or here, in my heart, in your heart, and I wonder if I will ever find the answer, or if the answer is just another question, and in the meantime, I wait, I wait for the leaves to fall, to cover the earth with their silence, and maybe then, in the perfect silence, I will find the lost truth, and maybe then, finally, I will be able to breathe again, to love again, to be myself again.