It was nice meeting you.
Last night in my deep slumber in the wee hours of time, I saw you. In my dreams so beautifully, so whimsically.
It was nice meeting you in a place between dream and reality, in an universe where you and I only existed.
We spoke, we interlocked our fingers, we ran together, we laughed and we loved.
And when your lips planted a tender peck on my right cheek, I smiled a little too brightly, something I would do involuntarily in your presence.
You wouldn't let me go, you held onto me so tightly that I wanted so badly to live in the dream forever. I didn't want to wake up alone, yearning for you.
Though we met in my dreams, it felt nice. To see you, to look at your face lucidly, to talk to you, to laugh with you, to hold your hands, to feel your arms around me and to actually know how your lips feel like.
When I woke up, gaping emptiness filled me because it was only just a dream and nothing else. Reality hit me, that everything that took place in the dream would never happen when I was awake.
And that was why I went back to sleep, thinking of you, praying that my dream will resume.
But it didn't.
Yet, it was nice meeting you in my dreams.
Tonight, hopefully, maybe we might need again.
It would be nice meeting you again.
Comments