lie: a purposefully false statement

Lie.

That was his name, his soul, his utter presence in my twisted cage of a mind.

Lie lied.

He lied too little, too much, whirling and weaving his way into my rotten corpse of a heart.

So I believed those lies, and maybe they weren't lies at first, about how our hearts were tied together by the red flowery string of fate that we both gave our lives to.

I thought he loved me.

Maybe he did.

But he was broken, and I was broken, but the difference between us is that I was willing to heal.

I was willing to heal him, to squeeze my way into his stone heart, then for him to at least listen to my troubles like I listened to his.

I guess I was wrong.

He said, "I have a problem", so I gave him a sword to face his demons that, in the end, he didn't want to chase away.

Instead, he pointed the sword at me, said "you've fucked up your job of being a good girlfriend", and stabbed it right into my heart, cleaved my mind and soul into a billion shattered pieces.

I laughed it off, patched up the wound immediately then cleaned all of his, saying, "It's alright, whatever's best for you."

I remember those exact words.

And I remember the moments after, the painful feeling as my heart was ripped to shreds with his nonchalant "ok", the same two letters that followed every single one of my messages.

I remember how I laughed at my sister's jokes and nodded to my mother as I climbed the stairs to my room, my heart heavy yet my smile light.

They never knew about the lie I loved, the lie I lived, the lies that the lie himself told.

So the lie grew and grew until, to this day, nobody knows if we're talking, if we're fighting, if we ever were we and we weren't him and I.

Nobody knows, nobody knows...

Nobody ever knew.