I will rest my hand on top of yours
And look at you,
Hoping for my tears to come;
Which will save me from a speech I dare not say;
Which will spare me a moment I want no recollection of.

I will pretend to have been stupid
And I will look away--artificially ashamed
But the instances that come after are of wisdom

I will promise you of how my story ends;
How you are not just another pit stop in the race I'm in;
How you are my finish line: my only destination
It's just that, the race hasn't ended yet
So I'm not yet with you, but soon I will be
You will find romance in the story spilling out of my lips
Each word kisses you sweetly, like my lies
And you develop conviction
I will ask myself if it matters that they are not true
I will not answer
And it will not matter