A lie is detectable. It has a bitter aftertaste; it dampens the atmosphere and sticks around like a lingering, moldy stench. A lie isn’t always recognizable in the moment, as it is occurring. That’s because by nature, we are trusting of one another, assuming truth first. When you are told a lie, you have to often sleep on it, then retrace your hunch to what didn’t seem to feel right. It makes you do a double-take. You have to go back and pinpoint the times where two and two didn’t quite add up. The essence of a lie resonates in retrospect, and often from the back of your mind.
A lie wants to be uncovered, however. That’s because it’s ridden with guilt. The guilt makes it fester. Sometimes, however, lies will just bolt out. They will expose themselves like a compulsive, trench-coat flasher, who simply cannot restrain himself. Sometimes, lies reveal themselves more slowly, like a cunning viper, uncoiling itself as it hovers above the dew-ridden grass. You have to move more carefully to notice those kinds of lies.
The truth has a will of its own. But it doesn’t have to be extracted, like a deeply-embedded, rotten tooth. It just works itself out, eventually. The truth gets antsy, when it hides behind a lie for too long. Lies don’t protect anything but the ego, and the glue that holds a lie together is flimsy. Only a fool would build a life around a lie, yet we keep trying, don’t we? The truth will eventually corrode any structure that is built on a lie, no matter how hard you try to keep it together. It’s just a matter of time before the truth exposes itself. You don’t need to work so hard to extract it, but why not go ahead and set it free, before things collapse?