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The love letters you sent me were not love letters.
The nothings you whispered were not sweet.
The promises you promised were not promises.
Your kisses betrayed nothing.
The things you never wanted me to see
were not the things you didn’t want me not to see.
You weren’t the one I thought you were to be.
I was exactly what you expected.
The smoke that bellowed from the cinema
was not the fire that broke the paper moon.
The nest that piped its passion to the sea
was not the lookout gone to dream among the briars.
The lies you told me were not lies.
The truth that you professed was not the truth.
Love is not love and nothing is more real
than who we’re not and what we never had.