Lie to Me

November 29, 2011

Lie to me, please. Say what you never did and what you never showed. Ask me to drop everything once again and sneak out of my squeaky bedroom window for another night time walk, to drop everything and stay with you on your little wooden dorm bed. Say you still love me, fight their doubt, and convince me of what I will never convince myself.

Give me one more dance in my birthday cowboy boots, one more midnight ice cream run, one more laugh, one more fight, and steal one more passionate, ambush kiss while I’m answering you about my day.

Remember that nervousness when we first went walking, how you wanted to hold my hand when I almost slipped and how you weren’t sure which touch should say good night? Do you miss it, the way we weren’t sinfully comfortable and blind to decorum? Remember that nervousness.

Lie to me, please. Prove everyone who warns me against you wrong with your innocuous smile and pleading brown eyes. Give me back the faith in you that we took away that summer.

Don’t feel bad for forgetting my birthday, forgetting to call, forgetting to thank me. Don’t worry about the plans you ditched to smoke weed and play video games. Don’t worry about the gifts and surprises I worked so futilely, hopelessly hard on. Don’t worry about leaving without saying goodbye.

Remember your surprise for me, the advice from him that I promised not to ask about, promised not to spoil? Don’t bother with a superficial substitute and a half-hearted excuse. Don’t bother trying to keep your promises.

Lie to me again about the other girls, about my friends who are out to get you, who spread rumors, and what really happened. Tell me again, in your most sincere pretense, that you don’t want her and I’ll pretend I don’t see through you to the fingers crossed behind your back.

Lie to me, please. Say you were drunk and slept with her so I’ll have an excuse to finally cut ties, a pain palpable enough to remember when you ask for forgiveness. Lie to me and tell me you don’t want me, tell me I’m not good enough, that our summer love is over now, the leaves are turning gold, tell me anything to hurt enough that I’ll finally go away.

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