Third Side

Who ever tells the third side of the story,

That witness account that’s never really perceived?

Without even a voice to state the lies poorly,

Or a mechanism to believe that we ever disagreed,

There was me and what I was long ago told,

Together with a wisdom watered down by exploits,

And there was you, with what you will keep until you old,

More than a passionate faith that punctuated your points,

I saw, you heard, but did either one of us really feel,

Anything beyond that singular first-person basin,

Something pulling our insides outside of our real,

To expose the epitomes that we were both chasing?

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