About the Truth

I've never lived
in a place this small.
We don't speak,
like always.
He knew everything:
That I loved him.
That I wanted him.
That all I had was him.

No extra space.
It's sick.
This love
was a farewell salute
to appear attractive.
We lie to ourselves
about the truth
because with us,
there's actually someone
to talk to.