I’m sorry. I keep lying to you. You asked me why, and I told you why. Only to message you again a few hours later to tell you that the truth was a lie, I was going to lie to you, I sort of saw it coming. That you would question me, and I was ready, my gun of lies fully loaded. But the way you looked at me, with genuine concern, your unwavering eyes that just seemed to look into my soul, I couldn’t do it. So I told you the truth. But I couldn’t take it, and so I told you a lie. But never have I felt this way telling a lie. I’ve told lies for as long as I can remember but none has ever felt so heavy, or painful as the ones that I told you, and the more that are to come. And should one day you realize what I have done, I can only hold out to hope that you would let it go. I won’t ask for forgiveness, only acknowledgement that I had done so for my protection. I’m sorry.