I used to go to bed at midnight
every night before I met you.
I used to build houses out of dreams
that I made up on a whim.
I used to go outside and stare at the stars,
looking for two that match.
Then I found a light shining from afar;
it wasn't in the sky, and it didn't make much sense.
It felt like I had been asleep,
and then I woke for the very first time.
I had risen from dreams time and time again;
I had lifted myself over and over,
but no one else had carried me.
Then as you looked down on me,
like nothing else was more important than our gaze,
I felt something strange like never before;
I never wanted to sleep again.