The art of Lying

I am a pathological lier. I tell lies, I cheat and I steal. I lie about the most important things is life like being married, having a job, being certaing age or having a terminal illness. I lie about the little things like disliking milk, having being to Paris or being lefthanded.

I lie so I don't get caught, to enterntain myself or to survive. And most times I can't tell which of those is leading me to do it.

I'm also a very well known artist. Oh, well, I was. For the last 30 years. You can find my work at the most important galleries in the world. Governments, NGOs and corporations have rewarded me for my contribution to art. I've been recognizeb by anyone who knows anything about modern art.

Today honestly... after 30 years of painting and 50 of lying, I don't quite know which of them I'm really best at.

Blast from the past.

July down here means the freezing middle of the winter and the furthest you can be from summer. Actually, this time of the year there is almost nothing that can take you back to the warm feeling of the hot summers that we are used to.

Almost nothing.

Last night before going to bed I looked for a body lotion. For some reason, coincidence or rule of faith, I ended up using this amber romance scented hydrating body lotion that I used during last summer.

It instantly took me back there. To the sunny days, the beautiful beach, the perfect sunsets and the summer loves.

It took me back to you. And it is the best way to go to bed, ever.

Too fun to love.

I was out partying with my girlfriends at the most popular club these days. It was packed: hundreds of people, loud electronic music and a lot of smoke. One couldn't see that much. Still, I found him.

Him is this cute (but not-out-of-the-ordinary) guy that I've been spotting for a couple of months now. Everytime me and my friends go out, I won't stop looking for him. If he's not there I might as well go home. He just brings the best out of me: I laugh harder, dance better and smile sexier when he's around.

We have never met in real life (and by real life I mean outside of a night club) but this was about the 10th time I saw him. By now, I'm pretty sure he knows I'm silently after him. I just cannot take my eyes off of him.

Since the first time I saw him and every time since then, I've been imagining our encounter. We would run into each other without realizing the other one was in front of us until we were already too close. I would give him my gorgeus smile and he would look me in the eyes so deeply that it will be enough. Love would instantly hit us.

So, that's the reason I go to the badroom as often as I can. And in my way back I take the longest path possible so I could contribute to faith a little bit and give it a better chance. Each time, I walk slowly, trying to find him in the crowd to go subly in his direction.

I went to the badroom about 20 times that night. I got nothing.

The night is over, my sweet perfect crush. I'll see you again next friday. And I secretly hope that, again, we still don't run into each other.

Our last meal.

I was standing in line for my usual 10-minute-break lunch. I hadn't seen him since we last spoke, when we broke up and he slammed my door on his way out. I thought that was all.

I didn't realice he was there too, just a couple of feet ahead of me.

He took his tray and started walking towards me. I started shaking. We couldn't stop staring at each other. He looked me strongly in the eyes and I felt strangely unconfortable and nervous.

As he was getting closer and closer I stopped listening to the noises of the restaurant and music came to my mind. Everything became slow motion. I felt butterflies in my stomach, all over again, exactly like the day I met him.

He gently grabbed his drink; and again looked me in the eyes. I started smiling, imagining the movie-style kiss that was comming up.

He grabbed his drink, and at the exact moment I fell in love again, he threw the entire cup in my face.

Him slamming my door was nothing. Let's hope me soaking wet in diet coke is enough.