Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

The Truth

I have never lied,

to anyone but myself.

All the things I told you,

spilled over,

pooling outside of a heart that is too tiny to contain the world,

but tries her best anyway.

Always too much. Always too true.

I’ll tell you the truth.

I have temptations but they don’t entice me like you do.

They just become blurs as I walk along the path, that always leads to you.

I understand what it’s like,

to live your life with only shattered mirrors to see your reflection in,

unfixable, incurable wounds,

and the way they cast shadows onto the faces you see, on the pillow as you return to the bedroom,

quietly hopeful,

but well aware that it could be the beginning of more pain.

I don’t know if I’ve ever hurt you,

I’d hope you’d tell me,

but I also know the seductive stare of secrecy,

when it comes to wounded pride and bruised feelings.

My intentions were pure,

my promises, true,

because I’ve always told you the truth,

and I always will,

if you let me adore you.

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