when your mind lies to you (8)
all those years, i have seen you in my sleep. i barely had an idea of what you are. i just know that seeing your face makes me swoon, like teenage lovesick ready to dive into the flood of love and uncertainty.
the mystery of you intrigued me, the idea of us walking down on some poorly lit quiet suburban streets, or sitting on a branch of a sycamore tree smiling at every that’s-life-aha reflections, made all of me wrote down an entire chapter of a romantic novel.
we were indeed a story of something more, the sweeping-off-my-feet moments were there, i have written it all down, every time i see you, in my dreams or daydreams. you were a fairy.
you were — almost real.
but as i have continued to read the pages of reality. i started to see missing words written by you.
“that’s not what it looked like…”
“why are you like that?”
“i’m sorry if you feel that way but…”
at first i didn’t seem to read these words. i couldn’t recall them being written by you. i convinced myself that you are also the main character of our story, so i continued to see you the way i have written you in my head,
time passed and i couldn’t miss your words anymore. you wrote them in my heart so well that you left it bleeding. i wanted to wake up but i have sunken down to deep in this dream-turned-nightmare.
we were indeed a story of something more, i just never knew that ours has two versions, the one i wrote for me, and the one that is true. i have written it all down. you have written yours. but now every time i see you, in my dreams and daydreams and every memory i can’t escape, you are now a ghost.
my past self wished for you, but how I wish I hadn’t.
konica s1.6 | kodak gold 200
(arts ; 2023)
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