Mentí || I lied

• The night •

Dear lover, friend and boyfriend,
I write today for you to know that I loved you.

And yes, I wrote that in past, because this will be the letter that I will leave above the semi-dead grass in front of your gray and sad grave.
But don't panic. If you read it, I can already tell you that you are a beautiful ghost as clear as crystal, and if you're alive when you read this, it's probably because it will soon end your life cycle.

And as thousand times I'd wanted you to do, this time, the truth is the only way in which words move my lips. I have a question, did you think of the consequences when you lied to me my and to my illusions?

I am writing this letter in the beautiful desktop of our study room.
I love this place, can't you feel the calm that it radiates?

Such a calm setting, such a tangible peace...

Its clear walls, shelves full of books, those two pictures with deep and magical landscapes, and the position of the desktop.
Oh, I love that last thing. It was always my dream to have a desk in front of the window so I could see the amazing moon at night.

Today in particular, that wish won't be fulfilled, since a dense clouds of sad heaven result, have endeavored to make the night a one much darker, hiding the presence of the moon.

Well, I only want to tell you that I lied about many things.
That, for example, I just wanted to get rid of that grand piano that I gave you as a symbol of love, that is behind me in this room right now.

That piano you are so attached to, and with which so many songs I wanted you to write to me, but that you only wrote to other several women, neither of which was me.

I want to get rid of it as you got rid of the pills N potions that I bought to make from our love an eternal one.

Step by step I'll tell you what took me so outrageous limits.

Three months ago, on Thursday 23th at night, you came home with a smile on your face.

Oh, God, I loved that smile, I thought it was all mine.

The walls of the house were still of that dirty yellow color, we hadn't painted them yet of that blue so clear that we have now. While you asked about what we had for dinner, you went unbuttoning your shirt, and getting rid of the knot of your tie.

You had left, as usual, your suitcase on the table, so I scolded you, and you quickly took it out of there, left it at the foot of the chair, and apologized.

A soft chuckle escaped through my lips.
I was so happy. I had it all; I had the love of my life, in my home, my parents had finally stopped fighting and I had a job.

I was, with smirk on face, giving thanks for all that, while I looked every centimeter of your skin you were revealing, and the movements that your hands did to leave the clothes on the wooden chair of the salon.

But when you got rid of the shirt, my gaze was amazed at what I saw.

There was a pink print your neck, a kissing mark of another woman. It didn't take anything else.

I'm sure you cheated on me, because we both know that I have never used a pink lipstick.

Still, I wished my view was wrong by something as annoying as myopia is, that it was playing a trick, but you know what?

When I put my arms around you, not only I saw the mark you had obviously wanted to be remove, clearer than ever, but I smelled the scent of these oppressive and that some people would classify as cheap, flooded my respiratory system.