You said you loved me.
You said you missed me.
You were lying
for all that I can tell
since I see little evidence of those words
other than the sounds escaping your lips.

I understand, though.
Sometimes a lie is easier
than the uneasy truth
and I’m sure I can see
how the truth would be uneasy
that feelings change and feelings
you hoped you’d have
would prove to be nothing at all
some dandelion wisp
that floated away
after a slight breath.

I realize how
you might not mean to be
but nonetheless became
a fucking liar
who would say the easy lie
rather than stand up
and be honest.

I get it.
I see.
I understand
and I forgive you.
I’m lying.