My Hidden Lives // Prose

32. about white lies in the morning

white lies1


I remember one morning with Jay in my room. We’d just made love and he’d gone to the bathroom to wash up. I was lying on my bed looking at the ceiling, a heavy-guitar track coming out of the speakers of my vintage radio. Suddenly, it hit me: I don’t love him anymore. This isn’t any good. Why is he even here? Why am I?

A frightening, crippling sadness threatened to break through my veneer. I pushed it down with the smoke I inhaled, trying to keep my mind too hazy for serious words to surface.

Jay returned from the bathroom and lay down beside me, toppling onto the bed jokingly. I hugged him, kissed his cheek. I don’t love him anymore. I hate that I don’t love him anymore. It’s time for me to leave,  but I’m home, and there’s nowhere left to go.

The tightening of my gut warned me of the oncoming panic attack. Jay asked what I was thinking about, said it was nice to see me at last. I said I loved him. Seeing his smile made the lie feel better, even if only for a moment.  Looking back on it now, maybe I wasn’t lying at all.

When he left, I bought a couple of beers and sat down at my desk to write a poem about breaking up in the winter. It was already spring then. A year’s wait seemed inevitable. Nobody wants to be alone when everything around them is finally coming back to life. Nobody wants to die inside only to see the world blossom.

A month or so later, we were back at the scene of the crime, only thick blankets were no longer needed. I gazed at his face with poorly hidden admiration as he stared pensively at the ceiling. What are you thinking about, I asked. About how good it is to see you, he replied apologetically. I had no idea what was going through his head, although looking back on it now maybe I should have known.

We didn’t see much of each other after that morning. There were essays to be written, finals to be taken, other friends to be met. Always, there were words we needed to not say. It was easier not to be silent while being apart.

The last time we saw each other, it was a spring afternoon in a city park. He said it would be a good idea for me to lose some weight. Or quit smoking. Preferably both. I said it would be great if he could love me more. We looked at each other from across the bench, from across two mornings spanning a couple of months or so of indecision. Then we amicably shook each other’s hands, and said goodbye.

As I was walking homeward, replaying the last half a year or so of sun-drenched mornings and wine-drenched nights, it struck me how difficult it really is to love, when one is fully clothed. When there is no way to stifle words with  hungry kisses. When there is no bright light to hide the white of one’s little lies.


7 thoughts on “32. about white lies in the morning

  1. “Nobody wants to die inside only to see the world blossom.”

    I like this line a lot. I was talking with someone recently about spring and how invasive it can feel to one’s emotional life, how inappropriate its gaudiness can sometimes seem. This whole piece is an exquisite capture of one of the more horrifying realizations we often delay coming to in life, for reasons both obvious and less tangible.

    • Thank you so much! I am often taken aback by spring for that same reason, you used the exact word that comes to my mind as well – *invasive*. There’s all this pressure to feel giddy and to be new.. As far as the text goes, it’s one of those things I guess, like when you’re making a big life-altering decision and then it’s always wait until a birthday passes, or a holiday, or some other crisis and you’re only delaying the inevitable and in the end, making it all the more difficult. There should be a school subject on how to deal with these things, I think, something in the lines of “the art of letting go” 🙂

      • Haha…yes, there should! Why don’t they ever teach us the helpful things, the ones that will spare us emotional turmoil later on. And it is very much like you say, with the delaying…the excuses we make to ourselves that later on we are sorry for spending so much time inventing.

  2. ” how difficult it really is to love, when one is fully clothed. When there is no way to stifle words with hungry kisses. When there is no bright light to hide the white of one’s little lies.”

    Wow.. prekrasno…imaš moć govoriti o nekim očitim univerzalnim istinama i banalnim stvarima sa takvom dubinom a opet bez nekakvih pretenzija…ovaj put si me dotukla 😛

    • A Nela ❤ Hvala! Drago mi je da se moja pretencioznost ne presipa u tekstove, hehe, stvarno se trudim biti što iskrenija u njima jer mislim da već dosta ljudi romantizira te neke stvari i definitivno im ne treba moja pomoć.. iako sam i ja u dubini dubine romantik, ali eto, onaj skeptične vrste 🙂 I nadam se da je ovo "dotukla" u pozitivnom smislu, a ne tipa ubila u pojam 🙂

      • hehe it takes one to know one..skeptik/prikriveni romantik – same here. A ovo “dotukla” hm …definitvno je u pozitivnom smisli jer si uspjela izvući tako snažnu reakciju s moje strane. Makar imam potrebu skovrčati se u fetus pozu, jesti čokoladu i gledati Ponos i predrasude (Colin firth verzija molim lijepo) po 3. put ove godine jer si evocirala neka sjećanja i blah. ‘Nuff said. Odlična si !

      • Pa ne postoji druga verzija osim Firth/Ehle verzije -.- 😀 ajde, hvala, puno mi znači to kaj ti se sviđa i što sam nešto uspjela evocirati.. that’s what art is supposed to be about. 🙂 ❤

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