it feels like you can’t ever be quite close enough
for it to satisfy me.
my mind, my skin, my heart,
are all simply unfulfilled.

as i lay upon my bed at night,
i consider, and reconsider, and repeat.
the fantasy of being in love, of being loved
is really lovely as an idea.

the thought that plagues my mind
is why the translation
of my hopes and thoughts, to reality
always get turned to terror?

maybe if two souls could merge
i would feel complete.
it could be possible, could be real
but in this universe it’s all futile

so as i pull the quilt over my body
alone in my bedroom
i accept that anything could be described as ‘real’
because it’s only ever as real as this life can be.