Her eyes are full of tears while he
tries to explain why it doesn’t work,
when what he means is he’s plain bored
and that the sex is not enough.

She knows he’s lying – that he wants to be
with someone else, and that in a week
if they should meet, she’d be ignored.
But it was the first time she’d been in love.

What she cannot know as yet is how
the years will pass, and she’ll look back
amazed he meant so much, but still

conscious that self-deceit allowed
a sense of being alive she’s lacked
since the real world moved in for the kill.

Tom Vaughan

If you have any thoughts on this poem,  Tom Vaughan  would be pleased to hear them.