I realized today that I don’t write anymore.

And then I realized that the above statement, like so many of the ones that I make by putting words onto the screen, is not entirely true. But it makes a better opening line than, “You know, I hardly ever write as much as I want to and I really don’t have time to write for fun anymore. And blah blah blah.”

I write lies for a living. People don’t seem to understand this. They can’t wrap their brain around that even when I’m writing the truth, I’m writing lies. It never happens the way I say it does. And even that statement should give you pause. Because if I say it never happens like that, does that mean it sometimes happens like that? Or always does. Or maybe that one time I’m telling the truth.

It’s like that riddle. If one man tells the truth every time, and one man tells the truth half the time, and … well you know how the rest of it goes.

Here is the lie my truth tells: My heart is a red balloon tied to a fencepost with pasta. It’s a pincushion sewn by a saddle maker. It’s a stone holed by the stream that runs from here to Scotland and back. It’s tomorrow’s grey cloud on the weather forecast, the one with the lightning bolt coming out. See how the cat claw punctures it? How the baby’s wail echoes in its seams? How that thing you did made it split like dried oak?

See, did you ask yourself: What’s the cat’s name? Whose baby is that? What was that awful thing I did to her?

Why do you care about my heart anyway? Why don’t you care about my foot instead? It needs it more. I walk on it all day long. My heart I only use on weekends, and every third Wednesday in May.

It feels like the third Wednesday in May.

I suck at the Two Truths and a Lie game. I always pick the wrong ones. A friend once told me that you can always tell a lie because of all the details. Listen, he said, by way of example. We were standing next to a bonfire next to a lake and I wanted a cigarette. Listen, he said, and he gave me two truths and a lie. I love you, he said, with all of my heart, in all of those tiny vessels that beat and all of those veins that transport blood through my whole body and every time my heart beats, I think youyouyou.

All of those details. This is how you tell a lie and make it true.

I’m getting a tattoo. It will say, “Yes I said Yes I will Yes.” Or maybe it will say, “No truth.”

I’m walking the dog. She has a tail that can tell the weather. Up means rain.

I’m in love with a boy with feathers and a girl with golden hair and a story that sits in my chest like a redwood box made of words.

I want to tell you the truth but I know you’ll never believe me.

Kiss kiss bang bang, s.

***

PS — Most beautiful photo from this artist.

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