The lies we tell ourselves are still lies.

Desperate we believe them.

From the beginning she had believed him. He wandered into her life. A man seemingly alone, professing loneliness.

Romantic walks along the beach and midnight rendevous added mystery and intrique to thier blossoming romance.

A small voice tugged at the edge of her conciousness. Something seemed out of place. At first it was easy to ignore. Time past and the voice became louder, more presistent.

Still she believed the lie. She choose to ignore the circumstances. The oddity of the secret meetings and the cautious glances. The carefully guarded speech as he spoke about his life.

So, love blossomed.

The lies we tell ourselves are still lies.
These are the lies which shred our souls.