20 Paragraphs Of Lies
I was lying when I said you were a great person. I don’t think that now and I didn’t think that then. I only wanted to say something to ease the awkwardness of our last meeting. In truth, I think you’re cruel.
So if I’d been honest, I would have said that. I would’ve told how cold it was when you would so quickly revert to name-calling. I would’ve told how you it was tacky when you would swear around elderly people and young families. And I would say sorry for saying those things. But that would be another lie.
When I said we weren’t right for each other because we argued too much, that was a lie. We argued too much because we weren’t right for each other.
When you did that thing with your vagina, and I said it was great, that was true. But then you left and I never saw it again. And though I don’t think my hurt had everything to do with knowing that thing would be gone, even now, I’m not sure if that’s true or if it’s not.
When I told you I didn’t think we should see each other because of the distance, that was a lie. For everyone anywhere, it almost always has been.
When you told me your wish for me in life was to “be easy,” as in more graceful in defeat, and I responded by saying nothing, that was a lie.
Well, it was an admission of the truth.
I wanted to say: you’re telling me this because you are not the one being let go. But you wouldn’t have wanted to hear that, and I can’t fault you. No one ever does.
When I told you I believed you, I didn’t. I knew you’d started seeing him again. I knew this because of the small things you said and because we didn’t see each other as much and when we did, on the rare late occasions, it was just in my bed.
So I lied. I’m sorry. Though that word, I say it for myself. We only ever say sorry for ourselves.
When you told me you were not in a good place for a relationship, that things were really crazy and you were sorry for dragging me along, then I said goodbye, I actually meant to ask you a million questions. Which isn’t a lie, I guess, I just had a lot of questions.
But you said you had to go hang out with your friends, so it wasn’t the time. Though I thought about it, how long it would take. The words themselves would takes years. That’s my honest guess.
When I told you I didn’t think we should see each other anymore because you didn’t laugh enough, that was true, partly at least. But it was deeper than that. It was how you always seemed bored around my friends. It was the kind of toothpaste you used. It was countless other things I could honestly never explain.
So I was lying when I said I didn’t know all the reasons why we couldn’t see each other. I just didn’t have the heart to tell you the truth of them all. It would’ve taken a courage which did not seem to match our love.
When I told you I was sick, I was lying, I felt fine.
When I told you I thought we should be friends, I should have said I don’t want to see you. That would have been more honest.
Sorry, I can’t stop lying, I mean to say, that would have been the only honest thing.
When I told you I thought you were smart and interesting, I didn’t, I just wanted to say something nice so you would move on to someone else.
When I told you I couldn’t go out because I had already made plans with my friend, I was lying, I went home and fell asleep.
And when I told you sorry, I was lying. But honestly, you already knew that.