so many things in my life have been a lie. i mean it's not really anyones fault but mine. thats the thing though, the faults. we all falter, and alter, and change how we are. but why? why do i always think its necessary to be someone else? stories make me more interesting.. but for how long? my memory is so good because i got myself into a big mess and i have to keep all the lies i tell in line. i did this with her (and she did this to me) lies about telling the truth. what is the truth, really? i'm not sure if i'll ever know.