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What Could That Be?

What happens to a dreamer
of simple dreams because his
real life is already spent; all that
is left is spare change; time matters
not upon how it was bought,
only that it has passed as we walk,
wanting to be a part of history,
remembered by someone

Every moment, building upon the last
It never ends, remission is a drink
Am I moving too fast, who told me to run
Where should I stop, the day before I crack?

How will I know
unless you ask me what’s wrong;
is that when I will wake up?

I cried watching a movie, it became real
to me; every question asked of me;
how many decisions am I living with?

I could tell you everything I feel

The times I became nervous, except
it should be the time when I wasn’t:
I am not of darkness or despair, it
is only my weakness speaking to you

There is a blue light shining into my eyes
of my own choosing; no words spoken,
only brown eyes tempering what they
could never be to me; I was made only
of what I could never be to you

What could that be?

What is it of me except the only
way I knew how to live

What was it to you except the only
assumption you made of me; I hope
it was wrong as you now know that
it’s not so easy to be your lover

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