Circus

“Please, don’t let him see you. Stay behind. Or better, go somewhere else for the meantime.” “Sure. Anything for you, sweetheart. You will not see even a tiny part of my shadow. I promise,” is what I’d always say whenever you’d ask me to stay behind. And by your definition of behind, it means a hundred or thousand steps away from you. Of I course I should; so he’ll never see me, so he’ll never know that I exist, so he’ll never get the idea of what we have (is there even a “we”? An “us”? That I’m not sure of), so he’ll never notice anything suspicious in the way I lovingly stare at you while your eyes are fixed at him as if you are still deeply in love. And like what I always do, I’ll blend in with the crowd and pretend to be a stranger meant to be passed by and forgotten. Someone you never knew about. Someone whose existence doesn’t have anything to do with you. And to ease the pain in my heart a little, I would convince myself that the way you drown in his eyes, the way you whole heartedly laugh at everything he says, the way you bury your head on the crook of his neck and all the lovesick things you do all meant nothing for everything is just a show in this circus. A circus full of lies and deception.

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