© Copyright 2026 - Peter PHIR! Rain works the window. Blue light on the glass. Your phone wakes between us. Once. Then twice. You leave it there. I watch your face pretend not to notice. Funny, how still we become when something lights up. London moves below us. Wet tyres. Late trains. Your knee touches mine. So tell me Who gets the honest you? Who gets the practiced smile? Who gets the midnight version I haven’t seen in a while? And which one comes home? We can be wanted. We can be seen. We can look faithful through polished glass. But when the room goes quiet what lasts? Tell me what is real. Tell me what you choose. Tell me what is real. Tell me what you choose. No perfect answer. No pretty proof. Tell me what is real. Tell me what you choose. Our flat knows both our habits. Your cup. My coat. That chair we never fixed. I know the sound you make in sleep. You know when I’m pretending. So who am I to judge you? I’ve dressed myself for strangers too. Apparently we’re all mysterious with good lighting. The glass looks clean from here. But touch it fingerprints. Names we kept, flames we fed, half-read threads and things unsaid, little hearts and little lies and little doors we never quite call doors Stop. Look at me. Not there. Here. If there’s another truth, don’t make it beautiful. Just make it yours. Tell me what is real. Tell me what you choose. Tell me what is real. Tell me what you choose. No perfect answer. No pretty proof. Tell me what is real. Tell me what you choose. I thought I feared betrayal. I don’t. I fear becoming easy to replace. Another face. Another room. Another name you learn to say. And maybe that’s the wound not who you touch, but whether I still reach you. So let the glass crack. Let me see the frightened part. The vain part. The wanting part. I’ll show you mine. No pose. No clever line. If love still lives here LET IT HAVE A HUMAN FACE. Tell me what is real. Tell me what you choose. Tell me what is real. Tell me what you choose. Morning through the glass now. Whole city coming through. A million lives are calling and still I turn to you. Tell me what is real. Tell me what you choose. Tell me what is real. Tell me what you choose. Rain leaves the window. Your hand finds mine. No oath. No grand design. Just morning crossing glass. Tell me what is real. Tell me what you choose. © Copyright 2026 - Peter PHIR!
