Whispers.
Soft, raspy, whispers.
Draw nearer, the softer they become.
Quiet.
Words spoken to the wrong person.
Twisted by the tongue,
Strewn across time and space.

Truth?
Within the distortion- does it still exist?

Without the truth, we are nothing.
We have nothing.
We can be nothing.

The truth is no longer discernible.
What have we become?