The other night, Saturday to be exact, I was asked the question.
Do you love me?
This was not the first time she'd asked, but it was quite possibly the last.
I wonder, did a part of me know what was happening, how important it was?
Because Saturday, for the first time, I wanted to lie when I answered that question. I mean, I really really really wanted to lie. I wanted to say yes, and I wanted her to believe me, and I wanted her to say it back to me, and I wanted us to kiss, and I wanted us to live happily ever after.
What's a little lie if it can bring a lifetime of happiness?
Always before, I'd wanted to say yes. But I'd wanted it to be true before I said it. I'd always given her the truth, just as she'd always given it to me.
I could have done it though. She wanted me to say yes, and I don't think that she really cared anymore if it was the truth or not. She just wanted to hear me say the words. I think she'd have believed anything.
But that night, Saturday night, she sensed my hesitation, and she changed the subject. She asked me the other question.
Do you still love her?
And that question, that fucking question, I answered immediately.
Monday night, she didn't bother to ask me either question.
If she had asked, I think I'd have said anything to stop what was happening.
If she had asked, I think I'd have lied my ass off.