On April 2nd, When All Lies Lose Their Nerve

No lie, not even the elegant ones,
survives the arrival of April 2nd.
It comes in quietly,
feverish but polite,
like someone who knocks softly
before rearranging all the furniture in your mind.

Yesterday’s mischief still clings to the air,
smelling faintly of banana peel bravado
and the kind of laughter
that only exists when everyone is pretending
they’re not the butt of the joke.

But April 2nd has no patience
for such amateur theatrics.
It strolls in with a gentle swagger,
subtle as a cat
that knows exactly how adored it is,
and begins peeling the lies off the walls
one by one.

The small lies go first
the cute ones,
the ones that claimed
they were “just for fun.”
They melt instantly,
like sugar on a fevered tongue.

The medium lies try to negotiate,
offering discounts,
apologies,
and limited‑time sincerity.
April 2nd raises an eyebrow
and they collapse into dust.

The big lies
the proud, operatic ones
attempt a final performance,
throwing their arms wide,
summoning thunder,
declaring themselves immortal.
But even they falter
under the calm, dark gaze
of the beloved man’s hair,
that deep, unwavering black
that absorbs every false note
and returns only silence.

By noon,
the truth is everywhere,
stretching like a cat in a sunbeam,
smug in its inevitability.
It doesn’t gloat
truth never needs to
but it does allow itself
a small, knowing smile
as the last April Fool
slinks away,
muttering excuses
that evaporate before they land.

And so the day continues,
febrile, gentle, subtle,
sweeping the world clean
with the soft authority
of someone who knows
that honesty always arrives late,
but never loses.

April 2nd doesn’t shout,
doesn’t punish,
doesn’t even judge.
It simply stands there,
dark‑haired and amused,
watching every lie
realize it has run out of places
to hide.