Tell the Truth.

The room was filled with conversations we weren't having.

I wanted to tell him he was more than just a friend, that he had always been more than just a friend. Every late night conversation, every laughter-soaked car ride, every tear-filled goodbye -- they had all meant more than what we'd said. I wanted to tell him about the night we spent lying on my living room floor after too many... how when we had drifted off to sleep, I had awoken to his arm around me. I wanted to tell him he wanted me too.

She wanted to tell someone that sometimes she threw up the things she ate. Not because she had to, because she wanted to -- because she thought it would make a difference. She wanted to tell someone that she had never felt skinny enough, not even back in high school when her body resembled a twig like all the other girls, not even when she had been in the best shape of her life. She had always been self-conscious. She wanted to tell someone she was scared of gaining weight. She wanted to tell someone she didn't feel beautiful.

He wanted to tell them he was leaving, that he had enlisted in the Armed Forces. He wanted to tell them that he loved them but that he didn't belong. He wanted to tell them he was running away, but telling them would defeat the point of the mission. He wanted to tell them how his father said he would never amount to anything, that he was too much of a coward to stand up for himself. He wanted to tell them he was standing up for his country. He wanted to tell them it was because nothing else mattered anymore.

He wanted to tell her he didn't want to be that guy anymore. He wanted to tell her that he was done sleeping around, that he had never really enjoyed it in the first place, at least not to the extent he said he did. He wanted to tell her how he used to be. He wanted to tell her he believed in the same things she believed -- in God, in purity, in love, and in relationships. He wanted to tell her he could change. He wanted to tell her she was worth changing for. He wanted to tell her she would be his last conquest.

She wanted to tell them that she had a drinking problem. It was more than what they saw on the weekends; it happened on nights where she was alone. She wanted to tell them all the times she had drunk herself into a stupor -- all the times she thought she had gone too far, the hours spent yakking on the bathroom floor. She wanted to tell them she was buzzed now, that she had snuck off during the movie to take some shots. She wanted to tell them she was an alcoholic. She wanted to tell them she needed them to still be her friend.

I wanted to tell them the truth. The kind that wrecks your soul, yet leaves you begging for more. I wanted to give them authenticity, if only they were willing to give it back. I wanted to tell them life's too short for secrets. I wanted to tell them only truth would matter in the end. The words of wisdom I clung to in private were ringing in my head, and still I said nothing. I wanted to tell them the truth, but nobody is ever ready for the truth.

The room was filled with conversations we weren't having.