Guilt

A lost dog is returned to his owner and I feel guilty; I've had him the entire time. I knew who the pup belonged to, yet I held him captive in my home, playing with him and feeding him and loving him, all the while consoling a crying man over a missing friend.

Joyous shouts and hugs emerge as I let the dog through his door. Wherever did you find him? is asked, I think; his mouth is buried in my neck in a warm embrace.

What could I say? The truth would hurt and end this happy reunion. Should I lie? If he ever learned otherwise, it might hurt him, make him realize just how dual-minded I am, and we could never be friends again -- What else has she lied about so easily? would run through his head and all trust would be lost. How do you answer an honest question without ruining something?

I found him near my parent's house slips past my lips. A lie, my heart aches. His hold on me gets stronger, a deeper hug, I can't refuse to return such affection.

On the outside looking in, no one in their right mind would believe we were just friends, they would know our history at a glance, and speculate about the present. Is it any wonder I wake from the dream feeling guilty it wasn't the man curled up beside me?