As I flip through my journal,
I see pages and pages of lies,
that once used to be truths,
now stacked one above the other,
aimlessly...hopelessly....like us
I see the bench where we sat,
centimeters apart, so to say,
yet miles apart in every way.
'Are you okay?' you asked me
on page number fourteen.
'Of course' I lied with a smile,
for an umpteenth time
on page number seventeen.
Three pages and already
three months have passed.
Oh, wait a second,
'what was the question you had asked?'
Was it on the pages I tore,
Or was it on the ones you stole away?
Or is it my amnesia,
getting better of me every day?
'Liar' you called me,
sitting on the bench,
on page thirteen
with a smirk on your face.
Making me wonder
if lies are so easy to trace...
Who was the liar then?
Was it you or was it me?
As I turn the last page over,
I see that there were two liars in the story.
One who lied to himself,
And the other who lied to everybody.