We were actually quite close for a while. You did some lovely things for me: you moved in when my boyfriend moved out, making it possible for me to stay in my house, which I wouldn't have been able to afford to keep renting on my own. You gave me rides to school. You listened when I needed to talk. In return I listened to you, too; I got you a job at my workplace when you needed one; I helped you study. It was a good friendship.
Until... I started to discover the lies. That guy you said you were dating? He barely knew you. That bill payment you said you would drop off for me? Never made it to the bank. Those welfare cheques you were receiving? Obtained fraudulently. Your parents were supporting you, yet you still felt entitled to more.
You lied to professors to get better grades. You lied to our fellow volunteers and left our organization in the lurch. You lied to my other friends about my habits and past. You were charming, pretty, kind and articulate, and so enough people believed you, enough of the time.
When I cut you out of my life, I told you exactly why I was doing so. I couldn't understand the purpose of these lies. Some of them were to gain money or prestige, but so many of them were about nothing at all. You'd lie about what you had for breakfast or what you saw on television the night before. I didn't know you, and I couldn't trust you.
A decade later, you friended me, and I have no idea why. And if you tried to tell me, I wouldn't believe you.