Love Notes

The Truth Can Lie

What is truth? What you say? What you mean? What you show? How you see?

Or is it who you love, what you've lost, and how you've dealt with both?

I am dependent on the truth.

You lie to me? You'll die 'cause me.

You've poisoned me with a thousand words worth of lies.

But what exactly is it that is important here? The lies you tell, or the fact that I can see right through them?

The truth can lie, you see.

Just as a heart of love can be intoxicated with hate.

Just as an intelligent mind can be covered with stupidity.

Just as the face of the broken can be blocked with a mask filled in happiness.

"I really want to be friends" you said.
That may have been the truth.

Your words and actions work against each other. They are in no way partners in crime or even justice.

I watch you everyday. As you pass me by, don't even look at me a second.

Where you go; I don't know.

Where you are most of the time; again, I don't know.

But you show up when you want to. I do know that.

And maybe "want to" is a touché term for someone as undeveloped as you.

"Have to" is a bit of an underestimation.

And that's where I'm stuck.

I can't never understand you.

"What was the point of that?

Why are you here right now?

Did you really mean that?

Who is that about?

Is it me? Nah, it's them. Right?

So you didn't want something out of that?

Why are you here just for that?

Why aren't you here now?

What are you waiting for?

Why aren't you waiting?

Is that actually the truth?

Are these people out of their minds?!"

Alright so that last one was less directed towards you and more towards everyone that isn't you. Dido.

I know when you're lying. Logic has taken me over, as he did my throne.

It's not about how you say it, when you say it, or even what you say.

It's about the situation and the events leading up to the words spewing out of your mouth.

I used to be the least logic thinker ya would've met in this world.

I used to believe in the craziest things and I never needed proof to believe anything, even you.

I'd just believe. Why? There was no answer to that either. And there hadn't needed to be one.

You've killed my mind and reset it.

Now I have to think logically as to why things are happening.

Except when they're going wrong.

I asked myself why you talked to me more than I asked myself why you beat me.

Because I just believe things without reason or evidence.

Now, I don't need evidence or reason in regards to why you don't like me.

I just know it, I believe it, no questions asked.

But when you're nice to me, touching me, or talking to me in anyway...

Why?

"What's in it for you? Why are you being so nice to me? Why are you touching me? Why are you spending time with me? Why are you acknowledging my existence? Why are you sitting next to me like I'm there? Why are you acting as if I'm as good as you are?"

Because you've poisoned my mind and brainwashed me to believe that suddenly I'm inefficient, inferior. You've brainwashed me to believe that there's always something I'm not doing right, something I'm doing wrong.

I don't question why you beat me. The circumstance was, we separated for the night, and you deliberately got my attention to tell me in that moment, like it somehow couldn't wait til tomorrow, that we wouldn't work.

I knew that was the truth. You said it one time, whereas you told me you missed me and wanted to be my friend a thousand times for hours. I knew the truth, and I knew it right then that that was it. Right there.

I heard the fake in your words. I felt the fake in your touch.

It wasn't like those times in April where you laid on top of me and gazed at the roof and just talked. It wasn't like the time you mocked me as we pushed that stroller through the field. It wasn't like the time you laid your head on me and made fun of the way I excused myself as I passed my opponents in the wii game.

It wasn't like that.

And guess what?

It never will be again.

So do not tell me that it will be.

Don't tell me that the short hour in the middle of the night even compares to the old memories.

They don't.

And they never will.

So go ahead and hold my hand, run your fingers through my hair, stroke my knee, touch my face, whatever it is you do. But what you don't do is tell me that it's the same.

Or that you really care.
Or that you really wanna be here.
Or that were really friends.
Or that you really care for me.
Or that you really want this.
Or that it is in any way the same.

'Cause it's not. I'm more sorry about that than you are. But it's not.

I'm sorry, logic has taken control of me. The old Leslie would've believed you in a heart beat, and pulled you close to me like I did for the first time when you gave me P.T.

I wish I believed the lies almost as much as I wish they weren't lies.

Because the truth can lie.

And that is one truth I am sure of.