When I was asked to paint your portrait,
I faced it, having closed my eyes;
You were in front of me, however,
I chose to paint a perfect lie.
A perfect lie would never leave me -
And you were there day by day,
My lie creation would deceive me,
Just like you did it, anyway,
Would say I was an "awesome dear"
And calm me down at three at night.
I painted you, and it was clear.
That lie was just the same... but mine.
The trial of time would bring no changes
And every kiss would mean much more.
Now you're a no more perfect stranger,
Who, saying nothing, closed the door.
When I am asked to paint our story,
I draw a circle - it's not the end.
You'll part with me one Sunday morning,
But only to come back again.
