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Make Believe

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They always find me. I suppose I let them, fall in love. I accept the bodies they offer and their flame warms us for a night, a week, a month.
Their laughter, flickering like lightning bugs in the dark. Brief moments of now.

They see what they want to see in my eyes, take my silence for acceptance and hold my hand when we go out.
They show me off, I smile politely. Never encouraging, never discouraging. They think it's true love. The true love they've been waiting for, for a lifetime.
What do they know about life? About time?

I can always tell when they… wake up. They'll look at me with these sad eyes and they all say a version of the same thing:
“I don't think I love you anymore, you don't seem to care about me. Did you ever, really?"
And they pick fights over everything, willing me to fight back, to prove there was something between us, that there is something left to save.

I don't react. I don't look at them. Their pain is their own. I won't answer their questions. They couldn't take the truth, even when they ask for it.
Who wants to hear that you've been fooling yourself? Why not live in with the memories of the time you thought you were happy?

They leave. Quietly. Loudly. Sobbing. Yelling. Sometimes it takes days, but they always leave. And I'm never sorry to see them go.
Don't get me wrong. I take no pleasure in their pain, I’m not a monster. Not in that respect anyway. Although I'm sure they'll tell you otherwise.  

The years pass by. So many years. And they keep finding me. And I let them. Fall. In love.
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