Love Remembers

“You can lie in that bed in a stranger’s arms,
reaching for comfort, close your eyes, and still get no rest.

‘Cause love remembers
the smell of a summer day
lying in a hammock over fresh cut grass
and the promise of forever.

Yeah love remembers
the sound of pouring rain
beating down on the top of the car
on the side of the road where it couldn’t wait.

Cause love remembers
the taste of candy cotton lip gloss
on the lips of a long kiss
and the plans they made togeter
Yeah love remembers the feel of fingertips
running through soaking wet hair on the bank
after a midnight swim.
Yeah love remembers.”

WARNING: Emotional spill

Some of the lyrics from the song “Love Remembers”, by Craig Morgan are listed above.

I write to you, wordpress, for the first time in a while & on this specific topic because my emotions are driving me nuts. I think it’s because of this lying spree I’ve been on lately — guilt has a nice way of biting you in the ass. I have a problem. Let’s make that very clear. I am addicted to lying, or as close as one can get to addicted. I lie about some of the most stupid, silly little things that don’t need exaggerate or false truths, just because it’s in my nature. But when I think back, as far as I can, I’ve always done it. Exaggeration is different because a lot of people do that without realizing it; but I know when I am telling someone something that has never happened. But why? Hell if I know! I want to know why. Damn, I need a shrink.

One of my biggest lies yet has been within the last two months. It’s not something people usually think about; they will nod and believe me just because they are socially programmed to do that: the trustworthy, dependable-looking types are automatically expected to tell the truth. That’s why whenever I tell someone that I don’t tell the truth all the time they laugh or acted shocked, but I am completely sincere.

I don’t want to lie, and I’ve actually tried going on “honest” streaks, but they were short-lived, and only made me sound like a bitch. Truth is, my lying makes me sound like a sweeter, more balanced, experienced young woman.

So which is worse?
The liar who makes people feel comfortable and safe in their presence?
Or the ugly truth underneath, who’s honesty only isolates her and wounds her friends’ confidences?

As a default, I choose the liar.

There are a select few people that I try to tell the truth more often to. Like my closest guy friend, or my innocent good friends. They are too good to me, too good to themselves and the people around them (for the most part, no one is perfect) for me to treat them with such equal bad value as the rest. Example: my friend Cassie — she is a caring, relatively sweet girl with great Christian values and a thick Southern accent. I think I go out of my way not to talk to her about certain subjects, because I know multiple lies will come up. But my best friends? My family?
Constant, daily lies.

Some charades I have to keep up because confessing them would be so dramatic, I’d look like a total jackass. But it’s okay if I look like a jackass to you, wordpress: I can’t let you down. You’re programming, circuits, and hardrives.

I listen to this “Love Remembers” country song over and over, because the descriptions of little “love” scenes match up so much with what I imagine love could be. Does that sentence even make sense? Rephrase: I wish I could experience the lyrics of this song, because I believe those lyrics are some of what love is. That sounds a little better. I am nowhere fucking close to love, just deep neverending, unsustaining lust between tens of boys every day; one in particular, of course.

I don’t want to lie to you. So I won’t go there.

I cry alot lately, find myself feeling rather depressed in the presence of any couple who looks like they’re having a good time. Multi-racial couples, fat couples, skinny couples, preppy couples, physical couples: they all have something I don’t. They all have a connection to another person. I have never had that, TRULY, wordpress!, but I want it so.
I can’t believe how good I am at lying to myself most of all. I tell myself I’m happy, and I can fucking convince myself that something happened or is going to happen when it really isn’t. I will remember memories that never happened to bring myself out of a bad mood, but there is always a deeply supressed sorrow behind it because I know it’s all fake. No one should lead a fake life, but damn it I am, and I hate it.

This post was meant to get some relief out, but I think I had ulterior motives for writing it. So what if I want attention. Can’t I have attention for one thing in my life?

Wow, what a great person that sentence makes me out to be.
But I want to speak the truth, if only for a second.

I am so lost, and I shouldn’t be; not because I don’t have the relationship with someone I want, or because I have to lie to get through the day. I don’t know WHAT to do with my life, or what to say anymore. God help me, humanity help me; whatever. My faith in both need reassurance, as much as that pains me to say.

Will anybody even believe this? I don’t know. -.-

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