One Last Goodbye
"I don't mind."
He’d always been a liar.
Her smile widened, curious fingers gingerly touching him. He felt uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze, even if her eyes were glazed with ample acceptance. He felt like a child all over again, and for a moment, it felt nice. He lived in a world of deceit and lies, which even he came to embrace. He’d lie and lie and lie. But lying to her was different- it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t right. And it was hard.
But he’d lie about the ocean’s color if it made her smile. Tell her the sky is purple, if it made her laugh. He’d even hug her and tell her all of the most terrible lies he could come up with, just to make her feel better. After all, didn’t she deserve whatever happiness this untruthful world had to offer? He didn’t, but that was alright with him. He had never asked for happiness, either way. But for once, he’d lie and tell himself he had. Just for her.
Her pink hair would tickle his forehead, and he would always feel a strange feeling crawl underneath his skin. Whenever she’d cradle his head and tell him about her childish antics as a teenager, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t care. He did. He just didn’t know how to tell the truth apart from the lie.
“Will we meet again?” She’d whisper against his scalp, breathing in the ocean and mist. It felt so foreign and strange, a reminder of the true world that lied beyond the walls of her village; the dangers that lurked beyond the safety of her house. All lovingly cradled on her lap. And she would be lying if she told herself she didn’t enjoy it.
“We won’t.”
She’d silently cry into his hair, like all those times before. But this was different. There wouldn’t be a second or third time. And he’d be a liar if he told himself he didn’t care. But that didn’t surprise him.
He’d always been a liar.
Her smile widened, curious fingers gingerly touching him. He felt uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze, even if her eyes were glazed with ample acceptance. He felt like a child all over again, and for a moment, it felt nice. He lived in a world of deceit and lies, which even he came to embrace. He’d lie and lie and lie. But lying to her was different- it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t right. And it was hard.
But he’d lie about the ocean’s color if it made her smile. Tell her the sky is purple, if it made her laugh. He’d even hug her and tell her all of the most terrible lies he could come up with, just to make her feel better. After all, didn’t she deserve whatever happiness this untruthful world had to offer? He didn’t, but that was alright with him. He had never asked for happiness, either way. But for once, he’d lie and tell himself he had. Just for her.
Her pink hair would tickle his forehead, and he would always feel a strange feeling crawl underneath his skin. Whenever she’d cradle his head and tell him about her childish antics as a teenager, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t care. He did. He just didn’t know how to tell the truth apart from the lie.
“Will we meet again?” She’d whisper against his scalp, breathing in the ocean and mist. It felt so foreign and strange, a reminder of the true world that lied beyond the walls of her village; the dangers that lurked beyond the safety of her house. All lovingly cradled on her lap. And she would be lying if she told herself she didn’t enjoy it.
“We won’t.”
She’d silently cry into his hair, like all those times before. But this was different. There wouldn’t be a second or third time. And he’d be a liar if he told himself he didn’t care. But that didn’t surprise him.
He’d always been a liar.