Friday 10 February 2012

Of Dreams, And Foolishness

She was crazy. She was normal. She was a little dreamy, and very practical. She was very loving, and hated very strongly. She was very generous, and could be very selfish.
She was a dream. She was his dream. She was the strangest, rarest of women. He'd never met anyone quite like her. She could bare her teeth in anger, and scare people into giving her what she wanted. And yet, she had but, to smile, and she'd charm them, into getting her own way.
She was rude, cutting through people's weaknesses. She was warm, making people feel better about themselves. She was his dream.
She had dark, bright eyes, that gleamed with a temper. Those same eyes, could crinkle up, and blaze love.
A dream. Unattainable, always just out of reach. She was the dream, that never goes away, tantalizes, torments, with its foggy memories.
But she was real. So very real. And so human. With human weaknesses, and human failings. She crumpled under pressure, but was as strong as required, when the ones she loved needed her.
So he dreamed. Dreamed of his dream. And as dreams oft do, made him believe she was his.
Wispy memories. From dreams of last night. She lingers on, somewhere, in the recesses of his mind.


Strangely dreamy,
Cynical Romantic,
(:

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