The Pretty Lies

These days, I imagine sleeping next to him, because I know that being held by you is an exercise in being so close and yet so far away.

I wonder if that's what holding me is for him.

Either way, is it worth it?

We all want to believe the pretty lies, that this is less or more than it really is. But we don't. We almost have ourselves convinced by them, and can even spend days confident that those pretty lies are the truth.

Then we have those moments of awful clarity when the lies shine transparently in the dark. We know, for moments at a time, that this is neither more nor less.

The moments pass, and we can go back to almost convincing ourselves, because things can change at any time. But we remember seeing through the pretty lies, and fear that they'll become transparent again, shining in the dark like the falsehoods they really are.

So that's all the pretty lies ever can be.

It doesn't matter whom I imagine sleeping next to me from night to night. One is more and the other less, but all either one ever really is is a pretty lie.