The Same LieMature

The whole thing started with a lie. One simple lie and one simple fool. It was easy to believe, at first.

At first it had been long rides and cool night air. Sweet kisses in the rain. Calm before the storm. Whisperings of the same phrase, I-love-you, I-love-you, I-love-you, again, again, the gentle mantra of the siren’s song, supernatural and warm and just ridiculous enough to be true.

Speed forward. Passion, frenzy, ecstasy. Build. Build. Build. Life flies past in a kaleidoscope of colors, spinning, spinning. I can’t believe my luck. He’s the only one, the pinnacle of stability in the pirouetting world. The earth is right and good, my dear. Believe me. Trust me. Trust me. I love you.

And then you lose step; it’s too fast –you-can’t-keep-up. The pace quickens, and you’re being dragged behind. The world rolls, and you’re falling down the climb. Scrabble-grab-clutch. Oh God. Oh fuck. But for naught. The marionette’s strings are glued; the puppeteer has taken the reins; and the depth drags ever closer. Please, you beg. Please. I love you.

I know.

Decrescendo. The struggle ends. The peak is reached and surpassed, falls away. You’re plummeting toward the open sky, the starless blackness. Looming. Looming. You can feel it reaching for you. Fondling. You fling out your hands, grasping for that last –and the strings snap. Falling. Dying. Gone.

The story is over. No one mourns its departure. It’s an old story; repetitions have the power to desensitize. They shake their head and sigh. Poor fool. Poor predictable fool. Didn’t she see?

It always starts with the lie.

The End

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