I start at the sound of each car passing
on midnight streets outside;
hoping itβs you,
knowing it isnβt.
Dreams fade with your warmth
as reality slowly intrudes:
it would be enough
to fall into your arms
and know Iβd wake there, too.
I am only real
when you are near,
but you never stay
and the grey morning is close
and mine alone.
Ryan Stone


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