If I'm being honest

Most of us have a sentence we say a hundred times a week. "I'm good." "Doing fine." "Can't complain." It's polite, it's quick, and a lot of the time it isn't strictly true.

"Honest" is built around the moment that sentence stops working. The verses are all performance. Sleeping fine, laughing it off, telling everybody he's doing good like he always knew he would. You can hear how well he's rehearsed it. Then the chorus says the thing he's been keeping from everyone, in plain words, and it lands harder because it's so plain.

There's one small detail I keep coming back to: the picture face down on the shelf. It's not in a drawer and it's not thrown away. It's turned over, which is the exact amount of effort somebody puts in when they want to be over it and can't quite do the whole job.

I like writing about that gap, between what we say when somebody asks and what's actually going on. It's not a dramatic song. Nobody yells. He just finally admits it, mostly to himself, and the admission is the relief.

If somebody asks how you've been this week, you might skip the easy answer once. That's all this one is really about.