It’s not regret, about what I feel.
It’s grief, sorrow, it’s loss.
I lost the dreams before I shaped them well.
I lost the dreams before I could open my eyes and see how the dreams would live.
Lies, a liar, you could call me.
I lied when I said I didn’t have any dreams.
I did.
A lot of them.
I dream about walking side by side on the beach with you.
I dream about making a lot of jars of happiness for you.
I dream about watching you closely while you write on your papers, admiring the beauty of your handwriting.
I dream about stroking your hair softly while you sleep on my lap.
I dream about accompanying you and watching your favorite cartoons.
I dream about kissing your forehead deep, and gently, telling you that everything is going to be fine, because I’m here.
Except those dreams were ripped away from me.
Only overnight.
I was forced to burn all the dreams I had created slowly.
When I woke from a nightmare that night, I was drowned.
I can’t breathe but I didn’t die.
All my body aches.
My head is empty, because the dreams I used to think and hope for, are gone.
And now, I am just a wordless tome.
