A Dream That Is Not Mine
I know you will never be mine,
but still, I gather the silence of the night,
fold it into the shape of your smile,
and close my eyes
to imagine how beautiful it would be
if we were together.
I see us walking,
your hand in mine,
as if the world were a gentle breeze
and not the storm it has always been.
Your laughter fills the spaces
between my ribs,
making my chest feel less like a cage
and more like a home.
We sit beneath a sky
painted with stars that do not judge,
and the earth listens quietly
as I tell you stories of the boy I was
before I learned how to lose.
But I know this dream is a thief,
stealing moments I was never meant to own.
You will never be mine,
and yet, I carry you in every heartbeat,
as though my veins were rivers
flowing only toward you.
In another life, perhaps,
you would have turned to me
and said,
"This is where we begin."
But in this life,
I am a shadow chasing the sun,
a poet writing verses
for a muse who does not hear them.
Still, I close my eyes.
Still, I dream.
For even the smallest lie
can sometimes hold
the most beautiful truth.
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