I don't know you, but I feel you right from the get-go. You go about your routine that lassoed my heart into you, you who prance around the vastness of my dreamscape. I come to recognize your presence only in my sleep, at the very least that's what I know.

In that hazy, twisted world of subconscious shuffling, we find ourselves sitting cozily, face to face, at a table outside that rustic coffee shop. Honeyed words and laughters sprightly echo from that very spot where only a vase of freshly cut chrysanthemum sets two bodies and heat apart, longing.

Sometimes, we glorify sunsets at the shoreline. Sometimes, we sound our inane daredevil yawp at a cliff. Sometimes, we simply stargaze and draw across the skies Cassiopeia and Ursa Major.

We embrace the beauty of chaos we often find ourselves walking aimlessly along that busy thoroughfare before we head back home; normally we exchange random thoughts about school, my fascination with Rand's objectivist framework, your addiction to Cobain's craft and story, my weakness over falling in love too fast, your resilience and hope in times of defeat.

We are wired to each other in a special way, so special that it all has to be in lucid dreams. Feelings are intense. Kisses euthanize the butterflies. Midnight cuddles are soulful  calisthenics. Holding each other's hand  is infinite.

You present to me a self that is nurtured by its soul. I think I love you in my sleep. I feel happy with everything that goes with closing my eyes and letting dreams of the world I created creep into my consciousness. In such a realm I don't know you, but I feel you right from the get-go.

Do you see me in your sleep, too?

Here in my spirit room, waxing poetic over your incandescent visage.

Words just drone on and sighs escape me when I think of you - you and your odd symmetry.

I am not one for tempting fate though. If you stand by your words and tell me you cannot love me, I will assume all the necessary burden of painting the scenes in my head with you and me clasped in the thrift of hope.

You belong to someone else.
The roads pulsate to take you away from me.
You know, my world is building walls of acceptance but is crumbling into pieces of bitterness at the same time.
In the end, you will tread along the lighted path and I will decompose into the depths of darkness.

Understand that sadness for me means you are and will always be loved, and I will be forever cursed to breathe in the specks only of possibilities and of sorry chances.

You are mine but only within the autonomy of my thoughts.

That I will carve on my skull, that I will bathe myself in.

...