She was more a lie than a liar,
a lie she tried to believe.
Perhaps because she was a lie
she couldn't sustain the truth,
was made uneasy by it even at the start,
and soon became a liar, too.

(Was it me?
did my truthtelling
compel her lies?)

I thought she was beautiful by nature,
but no, it wasn't that,
she had only lacked
sufficient opportunity
to make herself ugly,
opportunity which I gave her
honestly.

(Was it me?)

She became more liar than lie
when she stopped trying.
Truth takes effort.
Not telling it
(that's lies)
but hearing it.
Others don't ask her to.
They accept the truth of her lies.

I didn't.