In my mind, I was
Prepared for your presence.
As if you would illuminate my world and
Tear down my mental fortress;
I was prepared for everything to be
ok.
So these preparations became the most daunting of dreams;
Wonders and hopes of everything
Actually
Being
ok,
And even after you monotonously sauntered into my physical world
And everything hopelessly remained the same, if not worse,
I kept dreaming.
Months after, I dreamt.
Prepare? More like pretend,
Pretend that you, in fact, never did
Physically saunter
Into my monotonous world.
That you, somewhere, existed
In a consistent aura of love and affection,
Or even in just the sense of an ability to love would've been
ok.
You had to exist somewhere because,
For god's sake,
It surely couldn't be here;
This surely couldn't be the you I had dreamt of.
And it wasn't, it was the you that was irrevocably you
You were as good as you were going to get.
And I was the same.
Indifferent.
Incapable of loving anyone,
Let alone you.
This was the "ok" that I had so long awaited,
and I was certainly not
ok.
So I dreamt.
How long can one continue to dream?
How long until they off themselves on the realization of the inescapability of hopelessness?
How long can one lie to themself?
The reluctant truth is that every reachable
"ok"
Is really not ok at all.
ok is miserable and impossible and
ok
Ceases
To
Exist
Amongst those who are miserable enough to admit this reluctant truth.
ok is putrid and a liar because
I'll never be ok.
And I'll always say I am.
And you'll, from time to time, saunter back into my monotonous melancholy of an "ok"
And I'll never be happy.
And one day I'll off myself on the reluctant hope that there is an
ok
Existing beyond you and I;
Beyond everything that I've dreamt of.
Because none of that was ever ok.
It was only a dream.
And all I've done is woken up.
emotion-packed dabble
