It's a lie.
When he claims and swears and declares his heart is dead. Decimated. Dust on the breeze of his allegedly evaporating soul.
He knows it's a lie.
Not some mistake or misunderstanding. It continues to beat. Pulsating hard, longing to match rhythm with another damaged heart.
That is not a lie.
His heart has been damaged. Tread on with thoughtless words and contradictory actions, but he is not innocent. He never fully gave himself to another.
He wishes this was a lie.
Always holding a piece of his heart-soul back. Buried deep within him. Unable. Unwilling to completely trust his own emotions or those of another.
This is why he lies.
He doesn't see the point. He knows he has nothing to offer another. Nothing to contribute to a joint endeavor. Better to be alone. No damage done to anyone when it is realized he is the pathetic loser he has always known himself to be. Professional nothing. Slipped through the cracks long ago, making him meaningless in the now. Staring empty out the window of tomorrow, patiently waiting for life to be done with him. Waiting for the void to reclaim its lost one, who should never have been allowed to escape in the first place.
This is his truth.