As fictionists entwined in fatalism
reality sank under metaphysical desire.
Abstract realism bled through the fever of imaginations coalesced
but we were never the protagonists we presented ourselves as,
just cocreators saving each other from mundanity and insecurity.

Hindsight doesn’t deconstruct the possibility
which still exists in another parallel,
one which wasn’t quite so consequential,
regardless of time, space, silence and regret.

The mattress gathers dust in the sanctity
we could only find in the 5th dimension.

Let it breathe.