I lie.
You lie.
Each step we take falls in a dance.
Each word we say, a mere shadow of truth.
Each moment passes -- a lost chance.

So tell me what your eyes say
when they look at me and laugh.
And tell me what your hands say
when they fleetingly touch mine.

Should I dream of love -- that is more than love
or is this just some great charade?
Is what I see the real you,
or does something hide behind that facade?

Each fleeting glance is as a knife
so tell me now, if I could live a life
that is, without you, half a life.
That is, with you, more than one.

Oh, the Unrequited! Joy!