The Debt

The text arrived five years later.

They said thank you. Said they finally saw

why I'd lied for them. I'm a traitor

to truth, I guess. I saw

it all typed out—the lie

I'd written, time-stamped, sitting there

in black and white. I didn't deny

making it. My affair

with honesty was always weak.

They said my lie saved them,

that they would have done something bleak

without it. My own gem

of deception had done good.

I should feel proud. I should feel right.

But looking at the lie, I understood

how easily I'd lied that night,

how natural it was to betray

the truth for someone I loved.

The lie is still there. They say

thank you. I'm still above

nothing. Still the person who made

that choice. And I don't know

if I did it for them or for the trade

of being someone noble. I'll never know.