Pretence

Do I pretend to love the woman I have?

Do I pretend to love the woman within my arms?

Do I pretend to love the woman  I know loves me?

Do I love the woman of my dreams,

that,

pretending not necessary, 

 I know I love?

Though my dream is no further than my fingers

to this key board.

And though she answers me in kind,

for I know she loves me,

as she knows I love her,

but a life together?

So we both well know,

can never be.

I’ve spent the years of my life

doing what I thought

I should do,

doing what

I thought I must do.

I’ve spent the years of my life

saying what I thought

I should say,

saying what

I thought I must say.

But now as I grow older...

No,

I must say that now I am older

and this is part of our problem,

hers and mine.

For she is not old,

at least many years less the age of myself.

To do what?

For I know I love her,

this woman of my dreams.

For I know she loves me,

yet...

We’ve never truly seen one or the other.

Yet...

Her hand has never been held within mine.

Yet...

 Our lips have never touched.

Yet...

 Our bodies have never met,

other, of course,

then in our written dreams.

Yet...

Yet?

Do I pretend to love the woman I have?

Do I pretend to love the woman within my arms?

Do I pretend to love the woman  I know loves me?

Do I feel what I think I should feel

for this woman I have?

Do I say what I think I should say

to this woman I have?

Is what is left of my life to be

hollow, untrue words?

Is what is left of my life to be

hollow, untrue emotion?

Yet...

This woman loves me.

This woman I have

truly loves me.