To lie about being in love with someone is to steal from them. It is not just a fib—it is an emotional heist.
You are not just misrepresenting your feelings. You are asking someone else to build a future on foundations you know are hollow.
You are watching them unpack their trust, their body, their dreams, their vulnerabilities…
And you are nodding along like, “Yes, this is real,”
when you are thinking:
“I just like the way you make me feel about myself. This is convenient. You are good for the performance I am giving.”
Because real love? It is inconvenient. It is messy. It makes you sit in discomfort.
And someone who lies about love just wanted the benefits—not the burdens. Not the honesty, the mirror, or the work. Real love wants your becoming, not just your belonging.
But when someone lies about love?
They are not signing up for the hard parts. They want love to stay static, like a snapshot they can frame—where they still get to be the center of the picture.
They do not want the kind of love that asks:
“Are you willing to evolve alongside me?”
They want the kind that says:
“Please do not change, or challenge, or outgrow me. Just keep making me feel wanted.”
To lie about love?
It is lazy and cowardly… like a parasite wearing perfume. They said “I love you” when they meant:
“I love the way you see me.”
“I love that you forgive me.”
“I love that I do not have to grow here.”
But love is not a spotlight.
It is a damn seed. It needs tending. And lying about it? That is just salting the earth where someone was ready to plant a life.
Love is supposed to stretch us. Not just tuck us in and stroke our hair when we are messy—but hand us the mirror and say:
“You are worth the work. So let us work.”
But me?
I am not a love seat. I am a freaking metamorphosis. I change, molt, level up. And someone who cannot stomach my growth was never meant to water my garden anyway.
I am going to make this worse for myself – he did not love the others either. They filled his auditorium for each performance but he knew they would clap no matter what he did.
He was performing. And not for connection…
…but for applause. They were a guaranteed standing ovation.
Safe seats. Cheap tickets. No risk of someone shouting, “You are out of tune.” No one who might walk out mid-act if the truth slipped through.
Every single word out of his mouth has been scripted for maximum payout.
