Just a little lie.

I am to honest with myself on days, I wish , had just a little lie. To former with myself sometimes,  like i could even cry.

what of the days I allowed myself to dream, on those bounful days of you, maybe wishing upon those stars would make this love come true. 

If hearts were made in heavens glory,  would our story design be true at last, often reminiscing,  on the softness overpassed, 

what becomes of love untold,  would we read eachothers quote,  love runs out of ink so often,  to imagine what was wrote.

If love was designed by the gods,  on high,  than angels wait in the line for eternal true, but often find, that all my heart, consists of, is that single lie of you.