i'm usually a liar, but not right now

i never much dealt with it. like the sort of splinter i stare at in the lull of things. the sort i gave up on because the pinching and the squeezing didn't make too much sense, and i'd been so ashamed of having it. i don't know why i should be ashamed, but i have always been. like denial to my humility. like cruelty eases me better. loves me better. i couldn't even say your name aloud. not like the pain was so overwhelming, nor was it pain at all. it just didn't taste right in my mouth. i salivated it without actually uttering anything. without enunciating anything. no sound, no lisp, no inhale, and no exhale. i felt incapacitated at the thought of it. the few letters that i believed were so awkward together. so odd and almost silly. something i didn't much take pride in at the time, but i'd said innumerably anyway. it was the safest name i knew, but how tragically troublesome it was. to me at least, your name is set on a podium in the corner in the dark. i set it there, marked my place, and walked away. oftentimes, it feels like a mistake having swallowed you. ingesting what i have of you just so i could relieve myself of you in the end. i'm trying. at least i think i'm trying. i write about you furtively inside pages i cower under. i never finish my thought in every entry because i don't know how. i begin with the beginning, just a simple reminiscence, without actually getting to the lurch i have in my throat. the animal i silenced. in a petting zoo at best. everything i have of you, i'd turned into metaphors. i'd turned them into things so not to make them seem as they actually are. i manipulated them. disguised them. doused them in such charming cynicism. but that's mostly because i couldn't bare plainly saying them. plainly looking at them. or thinking of them. that very well includes the letters of your name. it's almost as if i'm using them for my own benefit. so i can write something. so i have something to write about. and i feel i've concealed enough not to have to give credit. i'm using you as a flint. it's easier when the sun's out because the translation seems relatable. it seems easier not to stutter. but in the dark i fumble with myself. i blubber and i end up having to shake it. probably because i mostly saw you in the dark. i had you in the dark. you and me and the grasp we had on each other. it's most when i whispered your name and you immediately responded. immediately, every time. you really had me. it seems stupid to need a flint when the sun's out but everything i do that has to do with you is very stupid to me. i'm stupid to me for doing what i did with you. and i know they all think i'm passed you, or maybe i'm the only who makes myself believe i'm passed you just because i refuse terribly to speak of you. but my god, i just want them to know you really had me. i need it to be known that i really held on. and it's awful this way sometimes. but i just can't keep straining my neck to see if it's really your car that i'm passing on the streets. i can't keep at it right now.