It's probably crazy, she thought, to long for moments lost in time; secret glances from across the room, resonating warmth from the slight touch of hand. She could still see his eyes; dark and revealing, intoxicating in nature. Through tangled sheets, she turns trying to figure it all out. Was it ever real or was it fabrication?
She feel as though a part of her is missing; the air in her lungs cast upon the clouds. So often, she finds herself reaching for him in her dreams, cultivating treasured illusions that make her feel alive. Crazy, she presumes. Crazy to think that what he felt for her was tangible...
Prelude To A Dream
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