I see her, hear her, talk to her nightly.
We walk along the beach on clear nights,
We walk through the hills of Scotland, listening.
She takes my hand, looking in my eyes with hers.
Her smile consumes my mind, my heart, my soul.
The interruption of commotion tears her away,
she leaves without so much as a hug or a kiss.
Her face gives way to a harsh whiteness,
asylum-like, making me wonder for brief moments
whether it was then or now that I dream.
She has spoiled me of my expectations,
frustrating me with her unattainability.
I long for her, and know she is mine,
but can never have her. Can never
know the reality of her touch.
Somewhere a crow murmurs,
reminding me harshly that I am once
again in reality, in a place where
romance is the exception. Where true
bliss is thought to be in acheivements or
the acquisition of wealth.
I question, am I looking to high, too far?
Do I want too much the one thing in life
that I have never truly known? Total happiness?
Is perhaps my faith in humanity, in inherent goodness
convoluted and old-fashioned?
I ponder this daily, as I walk through halls,
as I talk with friends and as I learn. My answer changes
depending on the time. But nonetheless I dream of the day
when I will never have to wait until sleep to hold the
woman of my dreams. The day when I won't know
whether I'm in reality or fantasy.