The truth comes to you

Truth, often, does not come wrapped in silver lace
It comes in shredded love notes, 
and burnt photographs.
Or even, as white lilies resting against,
a tombstone that reads a familiar name.

But yours, struck me like lightning, on a sunny day.

I didn't believe, until then,
that there could be another truth,
as absolute as the flutter in my heart upon your sight.

But I'm grateful to you,
for your truth, though, may have momentarily diminished mine,
but didn't tarnish it's sincerity
or it's substance, while it still held consequence.

Because maybe you can never be prepared enough,
to greet the darkness,
but the darkness is always ready
to hold you with open arms.

Maybe the black is not toxic after all.
Maybe it just stands for certainty,
that we fear,
because it wipes us clean of all hope.

And maybe, we must all hope,
to have the courage, to embrace knowledge, 
instead of hoping
to alter what can't be reversed.

Maybe then, truth will come to you as 
stolen glances with unfamiliar eyes,
and accidental brushing of hands.
Or maybe as a reflection,
of a more evolved, and polished you.