"I love you" the words are out before you have the chance to contemplate them.

They're untrue, you're well aware of that. You can't help wondering if maybe she is, too.

But the depth of her gaze tells you she isn't. She believes. You wish you could too. That you didn't have to lie.

That you didn't need to trick her into giving you what nobody else ever has. Treat you like a person. Worship you. Adore you -not just your body.

Holding her sleeping form in the aftermath you whisper. "I'm sorry."

And, again, you lie to her.