I lie. Sometimes. But I, still, do not consider myself a
liar. How could I be when the lies I tell are this beautiful; this elagantly composed.
I express from a place that 'ought'; and NOT a place that 'is'.
The fact that you make the face that, plainly, indicates you half believe them, that your heart pumps blood with an expectation of such reception, that you enjoy them so much you save the feeling for future reminiscence, make me wonder if my words are deserving of your vile scrutiny.
The truth is boring; I offer
excitement. Be polite enough a guest to relish the moment without some political subtleties -
Who cares that the devil was once an angel?
I ask this question because my heart demands a justification. I have been served with a subpoena from the senate of my conscience.
You are a beautiful girl but, not the most beautiful in the world and, certainly, not the most beautiful I've set my eyes upon. You are not the center of my world; You, hardly, are with the capacity to hold when my elements fall apart. And, in all honesty, my anarchist mind is
wilderness for a queen.
So, do I really think of you with every clock-ticking?
I am not a liar. The guilt says, otherwise.
If I truly believed that, then, what is this conflict I sense in my conscience? I am just trying to be a good guy; a comforter; a lean-able shoulder; a hand behind the back of your falling self;
I am trying to match up to the expectation of society on what makes an ideal
What would you think if I told you that your new friend that you just introduced me to has one of the most beautiful smile I have seen in a while? It is an honest truth but, you do not want to hear it.
You are not an angel. You werent and you will never be. You're the one that I love. I do not think of you all the time. I do not wish to be with you all the time. I, occasionally, need space that does not host you; breathe in what you didn't breathe out.
If, only, I could say these truths to you without fear of retribution; without some 'ohs' before 'okays'.
I want to be ME and you, YOU. I want everything - All of it. As much
ugly as the
beautiful. I want the freedom of absolute honesty.
I'm not a liar - I'm a hopeless lover caught up in the moment; I only tell beautiful lies.
My words may not, accurately, depict how I feel inside but they still carry weight. They are what fuel the excitement, the thrill of this thing that we have going on.
Im not a liar; I tell beautiful lies.