Tuesday, 24 February 2009

i swear i'd burn this city down to show you the light.

“Promise me,” he said, “just promise me.”

He should know more than most that promises aren’t worth the words they’re made with, the lives they’re sworn on.

I learned a long time ago that lies make just as valid promises as gospel truth.

He was gripping my arm, through urgency or desperation I guess I’ll never know. I saw both in his eyes that night and every time I traced the marks that grip had left on my arm.

It wasn’t the first time I’d seen that urgency, that raw need, and nothing in my life could have prepared me for the intensity of it. It was almost as though he was amazed I would be with him, constantly waiting for me to turn around and say I’d made a mistake. Truth be told, I thought the same thing. How could someone like him possibly be interested in someone like me? That’s why I held back, why I could never show him how I felt. I was so convinced that any minute he would realise that he could do so much better, deserved so much better than I could give him, that I couldn’t lie to him… just couldn’t force the words past my lips.

When I said nothing he walked away. Didn’t understand that my silence was my very own brand of promise, one that would keep a lot longer than the words of reassurance he needed to hear.

He thought I said nothing because I was done with us, that I’d finished caring.

I’ll make sure he never knows the truth. I’ll keep telling myself it’s better off this way.

Maybe I’ll tell myself one too many lies and end up at the truth.