Dream. Was it nothing more than a bittersweet
dream? What felt so real now seems nothing
more than imagined words, a child�s game.
It seemed so lovely, too amazing to be real
and yet it felt so true and the fear that it
is gone is so cold that it burns, sparks passion
and regret. Will he turn away as others have?
Are you a toy, a few hours of amusement?
Was it all a worthless product of an
overactive imagination? If it was nothing,
if he feels nothing, you�d rather never have felt
the joy, the sweet pure joy of knowing. You�d
rather that he wasn�t the one to break your heart
simply because you feel that much for him,
so much that you would rather die than
feel that pain, that utter loathing. Dream.
Oh, it would have made a wonderful dream.
It would have been simpler to never have
known the joy, the real touch. So dream on,
my little dreamer. You weren�t worth it anyway.
