An Unintentional Lie
Do you remember when I was a writer? I thought my teen angst was deep. You would sneak in and we’d lie on my bedroom floor. I would read you poems about my tortured soul, and every time you’d say, “I think I love you even more.” It was probably something you heard somewhere. We had the world figured out. I would make millions with my words, you would be my bodyguard slash manager, and we’d always be together. Always.
Then I got bored of that dream and became a photographer. I would take Polaroids of you on my floor, or of you walking, or you with our friends, and you’d say, “You’re amazing, but no one will want photos of me.” But you were my muse and I didn’t care what anyone else wanted to see. We talked about travelling the world and taking photos. I would be a Pulitzer Prize winning photographer, you would be my bodyguard slash manager, and we’d always be together. Always.
Then we went to college. We did drugs and drank alcohol. Every time we were high we’d have new ideas and new plans. We were going to open a bar, or drop out of school and become nomads. We would dance around my dorm room nearly naked and talk about joining the circus. You would pretend to be a lion and I would try to tame you, until we fell onto the bed, and all talking would stop. Then we decided to start a rock band, you would be the lead singer and I’d be your favorite groupie. We would air guitar across campus and sing as loud as we could. There was also the plan to spend our lives drunk and high so nothing else mattered; it just mattered that we’d always be together. Always.
Remember when I fell onto my dorm room floor crying, because your plans were no longer our plans. You said, “I don’t think our love will grow anymore.” Also something you probably heard somewhere. “You said, ALWAYS!” I screamed, but you had already closed the door, making ‘always’ the biggest lie I’ll ever know.
Candess D. Webster