As Real As An Illusion

You are real as you are an illusory. You are a rhythm as you are a rasping resonance. You are a happy thought as you are a painful intrusion. You are absolute as you are a perplexity. As my eyes wide open staring at the ceiling cracks, I ponder could you be existent? Or are you just a mirage of my hazed quixotic illusion? Or, maybe, just one of the elements in the flight of my imagination. I desire to hold your hands. I desire to feel the mist of your breaths. I desire to be consumed by the warmth and the vastness of your embrace. Until I feel puny. Until I feel loved. Until I’m engulfed to the abyss of bliss.

Tomorrow, as with too many tomorrows, we’ll meet in the eye. I’ll be embarrassed and silent, for sure. I wish those furtive flights won’t leave any trace substantiation on my façade, that could bring blushed cheeks and knee shakes to my panicky nature. But yet, the little audacity that I have will take courage to tell you, I’ve been wishing for you.