This is a short story for I wish not to bore. Nor do I wish to hurt myself with these words. So when you find a hanging head at the end of this, do not be surprised. It has been coming for me for months now, slowly creeping its way into my life, into my relationships. Most importantly into one specific relationship, one that had blossomed, and then faded, then strived for life, and is now dead. All of my effort was wasted for the force was too strong. The truth is powerful, and no matter how hard you try to hide it, it will find a way out of your lies. But I never did lie, so why did it take so long for the truth to come out? Because the findings of love draws lies from the truth and the truth becomes a lie. I never done anything wrong, yet truth made it so. I never lied but the truth made me. Now I lay on the floor, yet another attempt to end the lying truth. I only wake up in the morning to try again, and if that doesn’t work I try to tell her that the truth is lying. It always has been. I tell her I love you, she says if so then why did you do this. I tell her I care, she says, then why don’t you stop. I say please forgive, and she says, I think we should stop. Her mind is fogged. Am I the only one who can see things clearly? Everyone takes the truths side, when it is lying! I get angry at myself for not stopping it before it’s too late. I say, there is a difference between flirting and being nice, but she’s gone. And I never hear from her again, and my day recedes to: wake up, try to kill truth, then try and survive the day, without her.
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