we lay in a bed of deceit,
where our blankets are lies.
and underneath the sheets,
there is an ocean of alibis.
a make-believe love,
held together by our pretentions.
we convince ourselves that this is enough,
that we are nothing short of perfection.
‘i love you,’ you say,
and i say i feel my heart skip a beat.
but nothing really happens,
your words are just air passing through your teeth.
‘i love you too,’ i respond,
with tears in my eyes,
saying they just don’t understand–
our love will stay even when everything else dies.
this carries on;
we never really grow tired.
blinded by this too-perfect situation,
it’s like we’re actors that are hired.
to stay in love with the absence of love;
it’s like we’re driving straight to a cliff,
and we can’t find the will to stop.