We meet each night,
just as my eyes begin to close,
I see you smiling,
our fingers entwine.
Life is perfect then,
when the line between dreams
and reality is blurred.
We meet each night,
I tell you all my dreams,
you tell me yours,
and we speak of things
we'd never acknowledge.
Life is perfect then,
when the line between dreams
and reality is blurred.
But then I wake up,
reality sets in,
and I turn each morning
to a cold empty space where
you should have been.
~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~
YOU ARE READING
Window pain
PoetryThis book is but a humble attempt at encapsulating life and all its flavours. It is an ode to the sad days and melancholy nights. For grief that stays alive even after years have passed. Musings of longings and dreams of escape. And a protest agai...
