White Lies
“How did you know?” I asked, not sure I wanted the answer.
I thought I had been careful. I thought she believed all the lies. The lies upon lies that I even started to believe. But she knew the whole time! And, she loved me too much to say anything — to call bullshit and put a stop to it.
“I always knew,” she said, “I knew, and I wanted it to be true, but I knew it wasn’t. I wanted it so badly that I even let myself start believing.”
I’m not even sure when the lying began or why I couldn’t seem to stop. Did I even know the truth anymore? God, she deserved so much better!
I don’t think she ever lied to me. I’m sure she did, of course — those little lies that we tell to protect someone’s feelings. White lies.
But, mine weren’t white at all — they were soaked in a thick slime and had a dingy, dark hue. They had become a heavy burden like a water-logged blanket that dampened and dimmed all it touched. And, she felt the cold darkness pressing in on our lives and still believed me, and in me.
Until I finally told the truth. I could see that I had wounded her terribly, but also set her free. Now she could shove away from me without needing to tell white lies, and in doing, she could be free of the heavy stain I had placed on her over all of these long years.
