Who wants a true story?

I only want to write things if they’re true, but sometimes, I’m tempted to lie. I wonder if anyone really wants to hear the truth. Because what’s true to me is the cold bacon grease congealed in the pan on the stove. The constant whirr of the ceiling fan, and the fact that my grandparents are still alive. I don’t smoke or gamble or even know many people who do. My boyfriend always picks up the tab, no 50/50 here. And yes, I’m still working on my associate’s degree, 3 years later, sleeping in my childhood bedroom with the pink curtain hanging in the doorway. And I can’t think of much else to say that wouldn’t be lies, so I’ll keep on writing about the things I know. And whether or not it’s worth reading, I’ll leave that up to you.