all i know

My mother always used to tell me "I didn't raise you to act like this." In her defense, she didn't. But I can't remember the last time I was honest. The last time I didn't take the opportunity to lie, cheat, or steal--it's in my nature. I don't know what it is. I'm not proud. But I do it anyway. My mother says it breaks her heart. My mother says lots of things.

I know it's hurt people, too. People who'd ask me questions and I know what they want to hear, even though it's never the truth--the two so seldom are. Sometimes I'll warn them. "I'm just going to lie to you." "You can't trust me." They never seem to believe me. They always regret it come morning. The friends that stick around are the ones that know, and it's uneasy.

The best nights are the nights full of whispered lies that nobody believes, where nobody cares about context or meaning, just that it's right now and we're off pretending we're in a world where we mean what we say and there's a story to it--a story we both know so well we don't have to bother with the questions. Then I'll flee by the morning. Sometimes I'll leave something behind--I think, sometimes, it's just to prove I was here.

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