Truth is

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I could tell by her spaced out tone that she was lying down .

She spoke slowly to make me hear the weight of the thoughts she was now oscillating. There was so much melancholy in her voice.

“I… hate… these… grey areas of life… and… I wish it wasn’t like that”, she said,
followed by a deep sigh.

I don’t like when she talks about honesty. She makes it so over the top. I don’t like
her telling me her views on lying. It’s an unavoidable thing. What I’ve done has
happened already. She can’t keep thinking every lie is some fierce betrayal, to the
proportions of abandoning a baby in the park or something. I don’t need to feel bad
about it. I don’t even need to think about it.

“Sweets, I’m going to go to bed” I tell her.

“Goodnight, boo” she responds sleepily. We hang up.

I head to the sink in the bathroom. She has to be less hard on herself I think, as I start
to brush my teeth. She’s going to enjoy tomorrow’s adventures. I rinse out my
mouth, set the toothbrush down, and turn off the light. I get into bed and keep the
TV on a while longer until I pass out.


“You told me you’d stopped. You told me, and although I know you think life is all
about the “subtleties”- Right now what’s screaming at me is that you don’t care! It’s
so easy for you to dismiss my intuition. It’s easy for you to kill the arguments over
your many indiscretions, yet we both know you chuckle inside when my feelings get
hurt because your misbehavior was aimed at my feelings. I hate that I can’t call
you out because you hide behind your “shit memory”! Always trying to be
the man in the middle! Standing in between two worlds. Standing nowhere really.
Make up your mind. Ugh! that you make me quake! You leave me so scared and
alone.” She finished admonishing him in her severest tone and hung up abruptly.
Silence ensued.

By now she was pulsating with rage. She couldn’t even tolerate the sound of his breathing. She definitely didn’t want to communicate anymore. She bit her lower lip in frustration. He may have loved her. He might even have her linger in his thoughts. Possibly a collection of his wet dreams. But what did all this mean when he still made her feel like such a crazy person? Unnerving was what it was. The consideration of the thought alone.

 I’m sprinting away down his street. I feel the long strides as my muscles contract and release and my chest heaves as I push it out and my arms swing ferociously. The fear circulating my bloodstream frees itself with each step and happiness comes over my body. Although, my mind, is going left, right, up, turning through a spiral, two steps lateral, back down a large step, left, right, all at accelerated speed. Considering the whole situation and all its possibilities.

I decide to disappear in a neighbor’s side yard and collect myself as I stay out of sight. I stop and cry because the honesty in this moment is too much for me.

He has gone too far. It’s not even subtle anymore; it’s obvious he’s lying now. He has crossed my imaginary boundary lines, all that I am able to tolerate.  How fragile we can be. Why did I decide to be the patron of truth?

A crouching sobbing, snotty, red mess huddled in between my knees, I slowly lift my heavy head. The torment is real. I fall back on my heels and my body shakes violently as the pent up emotions surge through.  Bringing my eyes to the sky, my hands flew to my mouth as I cup them to stifle the sounds aching out.

The moment is finally upon us from the unfolding of all the events. Of decisions we thought we controlled and consequences we realized have no control over. Actions mean everything,  the depth of one’s character. It was terrifying to be on this side of the truth. The truth ensnared in ugliness.

The truth was for her now, the labyrinth of his traps, his illusions, his delusions, his desires, and his derisions. The truth was a mess.




by Cleo

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