More Than One

It's almost impressive

how quickly we decide

who someone is.

One glance.

One rumor.

One bad day.

And suddenly--

"She's quiet."

So she must be cold.

"He's confident."

So he must never doubt himself.

"They messed up once."

So that must be who they are.

We take a single thread

and stitch a whole personality out of it.

Call it instinct.

Call it efficiency.

Call it knowing.

It saves time.

Time we would've spent

asking questions.

Listening is inconvenient.

It risks being wrong.

And sometimes

we're right just enough

to feel justified.

That's the dangerous part. 

Because a fraction of truth

can masquerade

as the whole thing.

I've watched it happen

in hallways

where names travel faster than facts.

I've watched it happen 

in comment sections

where strangers reduce each other

to profile pictures.

I've watched it happen 

in mirrors.

"I failed."

So I am a failure.

"I'm too much."

So I should shrink.

"They left."

So I must not be worth staying for.

One moment

becomes a verdict.

No appeal.

No context.

No sequel.

It's strange;

how loyal we are

to the first version

of a story we hear.

We defend it.

We build on it.

We live inside it.

Even when it doesn't fit. 

Maybe the danger 

isn't the story itself.

Maybe it's deciding 

it's the only one.