i can't go to bed
without hearing those words
pour into my ears
like a bittersweet goodnight

i walk around
with that song in my head
that puts to words
the things that i'm feeling

i scribble your name
in all of my notebooks
like a schoolgirl's crush

you are the air
swirling around my lungs
but i'm just another penny
in the dollars you make
singing
to girls like me

they say friendship
should fill you up
and make you happy.
that your friends
are like your chosen family.

so why
am i
so
hollow?

sometimes, i
lie around
on saturday
mornings.
and i imagine
myself in
a few years
living in
new york
in a ******
loft with
a beautiful
british artist.
i imagine
that he loves
me and i
love him.
we talk about
art and music
and the films
we want to
see together.

but then i
realize that
i don't want
to spend my
saturdays
with anyone
but you.

they're scary things,
our dreams.
they tell us so little,
but reveal so much.

the hidden truths
in the corners of our minds.
the little pieces
of people,
and things,
that we think we've forgotten.

so what to they mean,
these silly things?
when we dream of travel,
does it mean we need change?
or when we have nightmares,
is the nightmare our life?

i've never been one
to think dreams have real meaning,
but i can't help but wonder
if this dream does.