Today I was scared of being caught in a lie, even though I was telling the truth.

I wonder what that means...

I’m not going to lie.
I’m making this up as I go.
That’s what I seem to be doing a lot lately.
“Winging it”

I had a thought today however, that’s another thing I do a lot of.
Thinking.
Thinking too much really.
And then thinking about the fact that I probably think far too much.

I suppose this is where it starts,
In my mind.
You see, he said something to me and it started as a tiny thought.

Just a whisper at the very back of my subconscious.

And somehow it turned into a tidal wave, drowning every happy thought that came before.

That one little thing that he said.
I can’t imagine he could ever have fathomed the chaos that followed those four little words.

But I seem to be prone to twisting and turning a word, a sentence, a conversation.
Spinning it into a lie that quietly breaks my heart.

And he will never know.
He will never understand.
How such a small sentence caused an entire mind to fold in on itself and give in to hours of sobbing.

It’s a strange thing.
To feel something so relentlessly, to allow it to destroy something so beautiful and new.
Recognising your own self as irrational and yet giving in to that one small thought and almost encouraging the destruction.

Well, here I am.
Alone.
Staring with burning eyes at the remnants of the storm.

And those four words still won’t leave my mind.

I love you.
Not the same hollow love I felt for that boy that didn't know my name.
Not the same hard-earned love I have for my dog who holds me when I cry over you.
Not the same unwilling love I have for our father who I don't speak to anymore.
I really, truly love you.
You aren't dead, but then you are.
You're dead and dying, which I never thought was possible but now seems all too possible and I'm dying watching you die and now my existence is just filled with these broken fragments of a life that is ruined.
You're decomposing but still breathing.
I'm living my life at your funeral, as I watch the person I once knew be lowered into an endless pit in the dirt and I'm screaming but no sound can be heard.
And there's nothing I can do.
All I can manage is to turn my back and pretend I can't see the waterfall flowing from our mothers eyes, the sadness behind our sister's smile.
I pretend not to feel the all consuming emptiness that now accompanies any memory of you.
You're in all of my memories. We grew up together.
So I'll take this pill and that one and pretend that the smile on my face isn't chemically induced.
That the peaceful sleep I enjoy isn't forced.
I'll hide the bruises left on my soul every time I see a photo of you.
I am black and blue and dying.
Can't you see that you're killing me?
I am dying and you are living, even though you're dead.

It occurred to me today that it really is the little things in life that make it worth living.
However, this is subjective to the person, isn't it?
For me, perhaps it is the little pill that enables me to sleep.
Or the other one that puts a smile on my face.
But is it a life worth living, loving.
When the little things are all there is to live for?
Maybe this is because the bigger picture is too painful to endure.