I was talking to a friend about a guy who has been telling me that he loves me for the last 15 years. His words are flowery, his texts full of compliments and his voice is peppered with inflection and syncopation when he speaks about how much he misses me and wants to spend his life with me. I don’t believe him though. Not a word of it. His love is as fluffy as the snow draped over New York right now. Beautiful to look at, pretty to see, but in reality cold, meaningless and lots of work to get through.

I think he thinks he loves me but his actions don’t speak life to his words. He’s been making promises for years and he’s so good at it, that I think he’s beginning to believe his own lies. He has no intention on buying me a ring, buying a house together or loving me completely. He instead likes to text me late at night, send me emoticons and promise me things that he knows he can’t deliver.

I’m surprised he’s not exhausted from playing this game. I smile, nod and reply with words of affirmation, cheering him on as he lies to me about where he is and who he’s dating. It’s a dance that we play, and as much as I know how each scene will play out, I keep up the charade and make excuses as to why he disappears right before holidays and planned meet-ups.

Often I wonder who the bigger liar is, me or him. We have all these words and there’s no substance.

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