Lies. Everything you ever said for the whole 2 years was a lie. It’s terrifying how easy it was for you, like breathing or drinking, you couldn’t seem to stop, it was like you knew I wouldn’t have stayed if you had revealed any of the truth to me at the beginning. So you fed me one after the other, and I will have to be the first to accept partial blame for believing them. I should have known better. I am smarter than that. I should have walked away in that first month when I felt that something wasn’t right. And over the time we were together I kept myself honest to you but I let the lies you told turn into lies I told myself. So, I stayed and that’s where our story went.
For 24 years I held tightly onto the thing most precious to me like it was a secret I couldn’t share. I let no one close enough to get to it and I promised myself I would never fall for the lines boys gave me to try to attain it. And for those 24 years I was successful, it was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done but I did it. You changed all my plans when you showed up and you knew how to spin the words just right to make me believe every perfectly formed sentence.That night that I gave it to you with tears in my eyes and a simple request that this wouldn’t end, that you would love me forever you said, “I promise,” with a wide eyed innocence that I couldn’t help but get lost in.
Then came the second lie. I still clearly recall sitting in my car with tears streaming down my face, your voice a thousand miles away and us not even together a full year yet. I remember the vulnerability I felt as I begged. “Please, don’t leave me if I can’t move in with you. I just don’t think I can, I’ve given up so much already.” This was clearly a problem in itself that I was lying to myself about. No one should ever have to give up so much of themselves that they lose themselves. So when I said that I shouldn’t have been surprised when you replied in a stern tone, “I can’t say that won’t happen. I need this, I need you to prove you love me enough. After this I’ll know for sure and then this will be forever.” I still can’t even fathom how I fell for that now. Those were the same lines that I had read in every cheesy, teenage love story. Yet, I still faltered with my response as I thought about the end of us and then your voice came strongly from the other end of the line, “I promise.”
The third lie was all the mornings I would wake up after you had had long nights fueled by alcohol. You would reach over in our bed and hold me, your body damp and cold all at the same time, but you would nuzzle my neck and whisper, “I can’t believe you’re still here. Promise me you’ll never leave me? I won’t ever act that way again. I won’t ever do that again. Promise you’ll stay forever?” And I would kiss your forehead and offer to get you water as I pushed the memories of the night before away.
The fourth lie came after I had moved my things from our home. That day was the hardest day I have ever had to live through and as I packed away all our things that we had shared and left the pictures of us for you to have on our bed, I looked around and felt a gut wrenching pain. So all I had was one simple request, “Please, not in our bed. Not in our home. It’s only 2 weeks, promise me you’ll wait until you leave.” But the ‘I promise,’ you gave me turned into a lie just like all the others, this was the same one you’d uttered so often that it should have left a bitter taste on your tongue. This lie was broken by you taking her, the one you had been sending all those dirty, secret messages to while I had waited faithfully at home for you, and letting her into the bed that I had picked out for us just months before. I still get chills thinking about the words I had left stuck above the headboard while she was there with you. It was something I had spent weeks picking out for us and had special ordered and carefully placed above where we slept next to each other each night, our heartbeats sharing the same rhythm. It simply said, ‘Always, Forever & No Matter What.’
Those words became your final promise to break.
Second Star On The Write 