you stutter over your words as they trip out of your mouth because lies should stumble as they fall from your lips. you should reveal these untruths in the same manner as you committed the activities you now try to hide. you trip into beds with equal facility, leaning over momentary lapses of fidelity with soft sighs that conceal the abomination of your words. we once had a language that belonged to us alone; now, we don't even speak and no translations remain. i can only presume that your new husband will discover this quality as i did. i can only presume that, as i found you with him, he will in turn find you with another. some might call this justice and others might call it karma, but a better word exists, and though i've screamed it into the night more times than i can count, i don't think the stars will ever hear it enough to completely understand. when your next set of lies begins gestating, his time will draw near and the word will pass to him as if by telepathy, as if it were a virus. you are contagious; the word is the cure. it is a name for you that you will never know and never hear spoken. it is your penance, a crucifix you had tattooed on your back in the invisible ink of the truth.