24 april 2025 . he had never lied to himself or tried or burn it into his mind that he was fine. he had never attempted to convince himself that his feelings were misread, for her or otherwise. he had known from a young age that the dark tunnel into which he was born was unlikely to ever end. too young he recognised darkness as a default, and light as a rare trick he could not fall for. she had brought him the only light that was not a facade, and perhaps that was why he had pushed it away. he didn't trust anyone. not even her, not even now. it made sense that in a blurry moment he cut the line and let the curtain fall to cover the only warmth he had ever known. if he couldn't trust anything else, why now could he? but if that was really how he thought, why was lying to her, saying he was fine, saying he had fallen in love with someone else, so difficult? lying to the questioning eyes of even his very best friend had always come easily. he liked to think his gift for acting came from his father, who would act as a gentleman would around friends, then crumble at home and leave his son aching and bruised. but lying was never easy when it was to her. perhaps it was the way he melted in her eyes. perhaps it was the way that, if she ever cared enough, which she hardly ever did, his mouth went dry when she asked if he was all right, and how he felt dizzy and nauseous after saying that he was. yes, lying to her was hard, even when he didn't know why. he wondered if she ever lied to him. he hoped she did. he hoped she lied about her love. about who it belonged to. but he doubted she did. she was a bad liar anyway. sometimes he wished he was. if she knew he wanted her so badly, would she want him back? would she change? maybe then she would come over and show him that there was a light he could trust. maybe then he could hold her in more than his dreams.
