I find myself, sometimes, drifting off
Into vast seas of imagination,
Until somebody lets out a cough,
And destroys all of my creation.
I wonder if the same thing applies,
In terms of our reality;
If we're just the dreams, and hopes, and lies,
Of some cosmic entity.
And if we found out that that's true,
Would it really change a thing?
If what's true for me is not for you,
Is there nothing I can bring
To your fake life, and also mine,
That serves a higher purpose?
Perhaps our meaning's still divine,
Although it may seem worthless.
Imagine you are in a play,
Whose audience numbers one,
And you helped brighten up their day,
And shaped what they'd become.
Would it really seem like nothing?
Is that really not enough?
To know the joy that you could bring,
In a life that's often tough?
So I don't care if they're true or not;
All the memories we share.
I'm happy now with what I've got;
The capacity to care.