Can memories be counted on as truth,

or are the happy thoughts I have a lie?

Unintentional dishonesty – but proof

that common sense does sometimes pass me by,

pushed hopefully away by an artless heart

careless of reality, intent to fly

into my memory, twisting a frail dart

of endearment – rose-tinted travesty.

When will my dazzled senses ever start

to realise that they are fooling me?

That you could never love me is so plain.

I should laugh with you then bow out gracefully.

But hope is fighting with the truth again,

and I shall continue loving through the pain.