It’s called heartbreak
Love he swore to me; he whispered my name at the first light of sunrise; he felt my breath on his skin, and he danced with me, barefoot in a rainy night. He promised me the sun and the moon and it didn't matter to me: all I wanted was him, his love, my name on his lips, his breath against my skin. But his words were made of smoke, written in the wind; carved in the sand, waiting for a tide that would come to take them away, towards other distant shores. And the melody we had danced on died, leaving behind the aftermath of the hurricane named Declan Chesterfield.
Secret hurts. The unspoken truth pains. Yet it is so easy to lie. Lying is effortless, whether it be by words, by actions, or by body language. Indeed, the bigger the lie, the easier it is to pronounce it; just add a few letter, change the tone of voice. A single tale, a single word is enough to create havoc. However, when you remove the veil from a lie, it is not as sweet as a chocolate truffle. It’s taste like six words: Vanessa Larson, I love you not.
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