Like a Good magician

A good magician never reveals its secret. We all keep under ourselves' sleeves tricks we reserve for the right moment, the proper crowd. Under the table of our first date go hidden all the monsters of past ghosts, our flaws and insecurities, like a stain on our otherwise spotless immaculate white shirt you're guarded and contrite. Like a magician, we seduce with our act but it has acquired perfect equilibrium thru sheer practice, to you is a brand new thing, born out of the spontaneity and owe, but to the magician is nothing more than a mere mimicry of his skilled hands, his art exhibit, his lonesome freak show stance, who knows? Maybe the magician is grown cold and distant from his disdain and tricks. Or perhaps the magician has succumbed to his egomaniac scheme, and take pride in his charm and poise, do his job without the slightest shred of shame, devoid of any excesses. Once the moment passes by, the memory of it all fades overtime, even the most courageous heart will soon be forgotten. Oblivion will obliterate all there is, all that will, so we hold on vehemently to the hissing by-product of this present moment, gone with the wind, forever erased from the collective consciousness of things. 

But just like that, too, magic requires a degree of implicit deception. It takes practice, discipline and a concerted effort to fool the prying eyes, following your every move, suspiciously. It is the act of not getting caught in the act while performing it, that's the magic of it, and in the end we're pleased with the lie, even celebrate and applaud in our bewilderment.