I lied to myself today. I lied to myself yesterday. I’ve been lying to myself a lot lately. I refused to accept that you broke my heart. I told myself that I was over it. I told myself that the reason I got over it so fast was because I must never have liked you much. That’s a lie too. I realize that now. It’s easy to lie. It’s easy to look someone in the eye and recite a string of words artfully crafted to make them feel the way you want them to feel.
“Those pants look good on you.”
“I would never do that”
I say them all the time. I think I’ve lied to everyone I know. Every single person I know. I lied to you to. I don’t know why I’m so surprised that you lied to me. I shouldn’t be. I can say that I should have seen it coming. I should have known. But the truth is, I didn’t really want to. I liked lying to myself. It made me feel the way I wanted to feel. It made me feel nice. It gave me a reason to wake up in the morning.
I told myself that kissing you meant nothing. I told myself that sitting next to you meant nothing. I told myself that I could live with you for a month and a half and it would be absolutely meaningless. It won’t.
Now I realize that I wasn’t just lying to myself about the way I felt. I was lying to myself about who you are. I lied and told my friend that we were so similar. I told her that I had never met anyone who was more like me. Now empty nights and broken highs are testament to how exorbitantly, insurmountably different we are.
I’m not going to lie now. For a moment, if only just, I’m going to be truthful. I’m afraid. I’m afraid because I know that our differences will tear my soul apart. When you leave, you’ll leave behind a wreck with no meaning or purpose. You’ll leave behind a ghost. I am now only a remnant of what I was, once.
I’m glad you don’t care because then you won’t feel the need to tell me that everything is okay. I don’t want you to lie.