Promise.

You'd know what it means, I'm sure. You tell them so often. Lying your way through life.

Yet your lies are still so beautiful to me.

Lies. They're curious things. Completely and utterly pointless, served to alter feelings and decieve one; make one happier or sadder. If told correctly, they could make or break someone.

Do you think I couldn't see through your weak lies?

You're wrong; of course I could. Yet I chose to ignore it. I wanted to blindly follow you. You know why?

I loved it. Your shrouded mystery; your thin veil of lies, your fragile cloth of deceit.

But I told myself to believe your shit. I wanted to. I needed to.

I would believe you, leech off of you; depend on you to sustain me.

At least then, I'd be guarunteed a part, if not a meagre amount, of your attention. I craved it; I lusted after it; I lived off of it.

Any simple thing, a laugh, a kiss, a mindless fuck would make my day. Hell, it'd brighten up my week.

Yet every time you said to me 'I love you,' my heart broke. No fancy words. Plain and simple; it just broke.

Why, you ask?

I can almost hear your bewildered, nervous laughter at this question, your cute giggle that I know and still love. It was that giggle that captured my attention; that shout of laughter, that scream of mirth.

Well, this is my answer.

Because I knew you were lying. You never truly loved me, however much I did you.

I believed your lies. I fell into the trap.

We existed uncertainly, decieving each other; you claimed you loved me, I said I believed you. Decieving you, but decieving myself at the very same moment.

I wanted so badly to believe you, can't you see?

And I would fuck up, and yell at you that I knew it was lies. I'd scream and scream until my voice cracked and you walked away.

Then I'd collapse, tears pricking my eyes, eyelids blinking furiously, refusing to let you have the satisfaction of seeing or hearing me cry.

You'd always come back; it was what kept me from the blade. You were so anti-drugs and alcohol and cutting, and I knew it would upset you. I would rather die than disappoint you.

You would always come back, begging for forgiveness, declaring that you'd never lie to me again.

That on it's own was a lie.

This vicious circle would repeat, over and over, until one day, one of us snapped.

We gave up.

I gave up.