Untamed Truth

Rooting around for the truth like flared-nostril truffle pigs, looking for that one specific aroma and none other. The truffle is definitive and delicious.

Your truth. My truth. His truth. Their truth. Are they different?

If you smell garbage daily, that scent becomes familiar. Familiarity becomes one’s truth. Garbage becomes truth.

Opportunities to smell more than trash arise. What draws some to experience inhalation anew, and others to fearfully burrow back into the sulfurous depths?

Wild and tame, wild and tame. Wild and tame.

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