IN THE DARK - PART XVI
What was I to you, if not a fantasy waiting to indulge?
If not a misfit solution to a life half lived.
What was I, if not a figment of your imagination.
A heart too full of fire, a soul one thousand years too old.
It's okay. I understand.
The dream fades and crashes and dies and it hurts every time you land.
It's okay. I know.
But then there goes my fantasy, pure and sweet, tangibly waiting for me,
As it wills, my dear love, I do have to go.