"When the Lilacs grow that's when I'll come",
That magical girl sung to me
Besides the dull Lilac bushes.

She was my all, yet my none
Always an arm and infinity away,
She was my dream girl-
Who a planned to be.

She was mine yet unconquerable
She danced like she was flying,
Never actually touching the grass that tickled our toes.

She was free yet stuck in my mind
I feared that the world I lived in would poison her,
Like a white napkin being stained by the maturity of coffee.

Her eyes were bright...
Brown and green like the lilac bush,
They held a charm that made everyone smile
Or so I imagined.

"I will be you in May,"
She said to me,
By the Lilac tree.

Her arms and legs were slim,
When she twirled they were fluid
Always knowing what to do.

She was real, at least in my head.
She never needed a mirror to know her beauty,
She was already perfect and she knew.

Waves of blond hair flowed down to her bottom.
Long eyelashes hid hazel pools,
That bloomed like the Lilacs.

"When the purple buds pop...I will be real!"
She chanted as she twirled.

Her beauty corrupting
as her reflection shattered
Her perfect composure
Wavered by a tide.

My dream girl was never real,
I figment of perfection.
A dream that was never dreamt,
"Why couldn't I be her?"
I argued with myself

She was fake.
I was real...

I had long ago surpassed my dream girl.

When she danced she flew,
When I danced a flowed.

All it took was a reflection
To shatter perfection.
My dream girl had been an empty shell
Button eyes,
Straw hair,
Skeleton arms,
And dreamless eyes.

There was never such thing as perfection so why search for such things?