I didn't lie to make myself seem better, or even more likable. I almost wish I had, for at least that would be a slightly better excuse for my deceit. In truth, I lied to make myself simpler, to make myself easy. I wanted to seem transparent, to be someone who you could always count on not to be complicated. I didn't want to have real problems, or even real depth. I wanted to be the solid, silent companion. I wanted to be the person who listened but never spoke, who answered but never asked, who gave help but never needed it. I wanted to pass the time happily, ignoring my truth and my pain and being little more than a cheery helper.

But then I fell in love with you. I don't know how you felt about me, or even how I wanted you to feel about me. All I knew was that I had to leave. All that I had ever been - all that we had ever been - was a lie, an illusion. A harmless one, perhaps, but still not an easy one to explain.