"Are you staying in Italy?" he asked me.
Scared to say no, I lied to him and I forced a smile unto my swollen lips.
"Yes," I told him.
Maybe it was the way I paused too long before I answered the question, or maybe the way I flinched the moment I heard the word "staying." But he could tell I was lying. He didn't have to say anything, the way he weakly smiled at me and the way in which a fire like no other blazed momentarily in his eyes made it obvious that he knew I was lying to him. The way I told lies, it wasn't easy for the words to just slide down from the roof of my mouth. My lies twisted my tongue, darted my eyes back and forth and broke a sweat down my forehead. Anyway, he knew I was lying, but he continued on as if he didn't know I was so he wouldn't have to think of ways to say goodbye. I left Italy a week after that, and he practically packed my bags for me. I left him a note with my number and email on it, just as he left me his. I don't remember how the rest of our conversation went, but it's not that important. What is important is that we haven't seen each other in person since I left one year ago. But I still admire him more and more, because he still can always tell when I'm lying.
- wolf.
