These are not just words

I wish I could tell you the truth. The cold, steel truth. (Do I?) I lie with my head on your small shoulder, the scent of your hair all over my face, and I listen to you talk of your day. I nod my head, I murmur teeny responses, let you know I'm really listening. And I hear it, every time: the heartbreak at the end of your sentences. The rise and fall in your voice--you lull me--and I am almost lost each time, until the end. Then I hear the crash, the pause in your speech, the question finally formed behind your full lips. 
Why? Why? 
And honey, if I told you the truth, I would ruin it for you. Ruin the dream you have in your sweet-scented head. Dreams of true love and blue skies and first kisses and long touches and hope. Ah, I was you, back then. And it was ruined for me.
 So.
I cannot ruin it for you. I cannot bear the weight of your broken heart, your heavy hopelessness, if I tell you the truth.... that LOVE isn't always enough, that HOPE is sometimes a hopeless word, that FAITH is unbelievable, that WORDS, these things I have always hung so much on, sometimes don't have the strength to carry it all. 
NO. 
Instead, I nod my head, return your full-face smiles, kiss your perky little nose, and let you take me by the hand--lead me down your path of full-moon sunshine. I will follow you anywhere, my lips smothering the bitter in my vocabulary.