The Silent Truth

When I moved to you with my arms wide open, I hadn't planned to remain there indefinitely. Though; when my left arm threw itself over your right shoulder, and my right arm intersected your left elbow; I cling to you as I've clung to life itself and begin to fall apart at the seams.

Then three miniscule words flow from your throat, bounce off your tongue, and fly from between your lips.

"How've you been?"

These pure, facile things break the glass that glazes my eyes and shred the screen that filters my breath, because I've been drowning, but

"good"

is all I say.

You didn't hear me, even with my chin resting heavily on your shoulder. This was so false though, so entirely untrue, that I had struggled even to breath the word.

So it was a whispered lie, which are the easiest to tell. No one listens too closely to a whisper, you see. They know that any variation, any inflection, is commonly due to a slight oxygen imbalance.

You didn't hear so, louder, I repeat it. This one isn't whispered; the false note strikes, high and hard.

"When I ask that, I'm really asking. You know that, right?"

A silent lie is even easier, so I nod. Besides, you've already gathered half of what you want to know, right?

Now tears have welled over, and mucus drains down the back of my throat.

I wasn't planning to be held forever, honest, but if I let go now, the newly created ball of lead in my stomach would put my through the floor.

I want so bad to tell you what I've been through, and I know you would listen, but the words aren't for you, I think.

So I tell you the silent truth.

I tell you the guilt makes me sick to my stomach.

I tell you the ire makes me want to throttle her.

I tell you the pain makes me want to put an end to it all.

I tell you that it should be okay for me to wear short sleeves soon, because I've sworn off that bloody habit (again).

I tell you that I need in my mind to pretend, to act like none of this was my fault, and that I couldn't possibly affect the outcome, because neutrality keeps me from being swallowed whole.

These silent truths try so hard to become heard. They leak from my ears, and eyes, and nose, but I'll not allow them to leak from my mouth.

So all I can do is cry, and constrict you with all my might.

Then I head to the bathroom with corpses of spiders hiding in the corners. I look in the foggy mirror, and wipe the gallon of liquid eyeliner from my cheeks, (that I wasn't entirely sure how apply in the first place), with dampened toilet paper.