So... When is it okay to lie? If ever, that is.

When I saw the boy with bronze skin and golden hair with eyes to match, I thought that my eyes were deceiving me. Guys with faces like that couldn't possibly exist outside of romance novels and fantasy... Or so I thought. But there was one problem with my real life Adonis. He looked so sad. It wasn't even that he looked sad, on second thought. He looked like nothing mattered to him. Like nothing would faze him, not even the sky falling. And then I knew- he had lost someone he loved, too.

I'm not really sure how I knew that. I mean, having experienced that myself may have been a part of it but maybe I just recognized a kindred spirit or something. Why did I talk to him? I have no idea. Other than the pressing need to get to know him, I think that more than anything I wanted to help him. He just looked so... lost. My heart was breaking for him because I know what that feels like. Which brings me back to my question on weather or not lying is wrong all of the time. Because I told him that this feeling, this sensation of a shattered heart or of your chest being ripped open goes away. That he will be happy again. Which isn't a lie- I am happy. Sometimes. But then sometimes I feel so sad that I feel like I'm drowning. As if I get hit by this wave of heartache and wrongness and I will never resurface. And then sometimes, when it's really bad, I feel like I will never be whole again. Like I'm walking around with a piece of me missing.

But how could I tell him that? How could I tell him that he will never be fully happy again? Because if I did tell him that then there is no chance in hell that he will ever be fully happy again. But maybe by giving him that small shred of hope, I threw him a life float in the sea of pain that I know he is lost in. Maybe that lie gave him something to work toward, to strive for. Because in the end hope is honestly all that we have. Maybe that one lie will change things for him.

I can't wait to see him again. Yesterday was... It was amazing. Jace is so smart. And genuinely kind! And even though he is hurting, I can see a bit of humor under the surface. He is really quite funny- in a sarcastic and even scornful way at times. He must have been really funny before he lost his mom.

See, I'm lucky in that way. My dad was my hero growing up. He taught me so many different things in life like how to pitch a tent, how to light campfires, how to fish- things that my debutante extraordinaire mother would never even consider. But if I had lost my mother, I would have lost so much. My best friend, my emotional support system, the list is endless. That isn't to say that I love my mother more, because I don't. Both of my parents are important to me. It's just that when you lose something that you thought would always be part of your life you begin to doubt everything. You start to think the worst. And you will always be afraid of what you might lose.

From my spot next to the window I can see Jace walking up the street. His face is wrought with worry. I wonder what happened. There is no question that Jace is disgusted by his father- that part is made obvious by how he has his own place. But I know in his heart of hearts Jace worries about his father.

The old kitchen twine decorated with rusted jingle bells chime as Jace walks through the door. He makes his way over to me and is looking at me, but I can tell that he isn't really seeing me. I can tell that something is wrong.

"What happened," I ask him as he sits down.

He didn't say anything for a moment, just sat in silence. Then he took a deep breath and said, "I haven't heard from my father in almost three days now. I went by his place and he isn't there."

So that's why he's late... "So what do you think happened?"

"I don't know," he said. "All I know is my father is always too wasted or drugged up on something to leave that house. If he is gone, it's because someone took him."

"Come on, Jace," I said. "He has to leave the house sometime. What about groceries and stuff like that?"

"Our neighbor does it for him. She still feels bad for both of us. She lost her husband about four years ago. I don't think she really has anything else to fill her time. But that's not the point," he said. "The point is that even though he has been a shitty father since my mom died, he is still my father and he's missing. And the police aren't helping at all. They won't take it seriously."

I can tell he is worked up. I didn't even think he was capable of saying this much and now he is telling me his life story? I don't mind though. I doubt he has anyone else to vent to.

"So...," I began.

"So... I'm going to find him myself."