I can see you judging me. The condescending looks you give as I explain why I can't make it home today. The way your face tightens when I describe my discomfort at being away from you for so long.

"I'll miss not being with you today," I say, hoping you'll see the bead of sweat at the corner of my forehead.

But then, you smile and tell me not to worry and my stomach twists up in knots. I blink again, and realize your face is just focused. Focused solely on listening to me, because you believe and trust the words I say.

I'm the judger. I'm the one giving condescending looks as my eyes glaze over my form in the video call. I'm the impostor, the liar, the one who can't get enough of making up stories.

Big, small, even the ones where I don't need to, lying to myself and others is fun. Maybe it's because I write. The fantasy stories keep me up at night, and instead of penning them down, I act it out and watch as my actions cause consequences.

Somehow, I always get away. maybe, because I look innocent. I can be very transparent, so why the deceit? But you don't know me.

Sometimes, I don't even know me. All I know is my imperfect smile in the mirror as I achieve another lie. Another story told. Another face to judge. Another night out with the one I truly love.