Sometimes I think about wasting the words. Sometimes I think of the words as a boil that must be lanced. Just to get everything out in the open. After all, I can never be completely forthcoming and honest while these words stay locked inside me. Festering.
So, I sometimes think about just saying the words. Casually, like I'd say that it was cold outside or like I'd say that it was Wednesday. Just another Wednesday, no different than any other. Oh, and by the way, here is the truth. Do with it what you will, but you can no longer pretend that it doesn't exist, because here it is. In your face.
I expect that the truth would be met with disbelief. That would certainly be the easiest way to deal with it. After all, only the truth matters - if words are deemed to be false, then they can be swept aside and pushed aside and brushed aside and ignored like the millions of other lies that are told every single day.
But a part of me wonders. A part of me wonders if she would remember my promise.
I promised that I would never lie to her, no matter what. I promised her that, and I tangentially promised myself the same thing. It was a compromise of sorts. I promised myself that I would somehow manage to keep my big fat mouth shut up until that hypothetical moment when I was asked the right question. When the right question was asked, all vows of silence would be rendered null and void. But until then, I would be silent, more or less. Until then, I would be patient.
But patience, as they say, is a virtue. And it's a virtue in which I feel sorely lacking at times. My patience is tried on a regular basis. I can't stand the thought of misunderstandings and misinterpretations standing in for the truth. I really can't fucking stand it.
So, sometimes, I think about just telling the truth. Wasting the words. To fuck with proper timing and romantic moments and everything else that I've been waiting for. Hoping for. Dreaming of.
Sometimes, I think about just blurting out the words. Wasting the words on unsuspecting and disbelieving ears.
Not all the time, though. Not even most of the time. Usually, I feel strong enough to keep my big fat mouth shut.
Not yet, I tell myself. Someday, almost certainly, but not today. Maybe tomorrow, but not today.
The funny thing about tomorrow is that it never really comes. It's always lurking, just out of reach. Lying in wait.