We are hard on each other and call it honesty, choosing our jagged truths with care and aiming them across the neutral table. The things we say are true; it is our crooked aims, our choices that turn them criminal.
Of course your lies are more amusing: You make them new each time. Your truths, painful and boring repeat themselves over & over perhaps because you own so few of them.
A truth should exist, it should not be used like this. “If I love you” is that a fact or a weapon?
Does the body lie moving like this, are these touches, hairs, wet soft marble my tongue runs over lies you are telling me? Your body is not a word, it does not lie or speak truth either. It is only here or not here.
Margaret Atwood, “We Are Hard on Each Other”
Peace and Blessings