False Hope

False hope is everything, some days. Some nights
I dream only the times you smiled and said,
“Nothing but happy decades are ahead,
Skies shining with a hundred thousand lights,
The best of everything.” We should by rights
Have managed it. Fled is that music, bread
Not cast upon the waters. This, instead,
Is nothing much: insults, disinterest, slights.

Of course this ending isn’t what we planned,
But false hope lends a kind of dignity,
If we insist on one sweet memory.
One favour’s all I ask now: take my hand,
Pretend it’s more than just a one-night stand
And always was, my own love. Lie to me.