The picket fence was a prison. And I can’t be quiet anymore.

“Most of our platitudes notwithstanding, self-deception remains the most difficult deception. The tricks that work on others count for nothing in that very well-lit back alley where one keeps assignation with oneself: no winning smiles will do here, no prettily drawn lists of good intentions.” -Joan Didion

I married a man who, as it turned out, I didn’t know. The reality he created was a light show, a million false data points dancing as he conducted. Real enough from afar. But ghouls shimmered behind the twinkling lights, and when I grasped for truth in the thousand points of light, it slipped through my fingers. None of it was real. But his show goes on.