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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Personal >> ID #263774 |
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If dreaming's an illusion,
then are you not real? I feel I see you, I'm sure I know you. But my mind's playing tricks again. Every night I meet you, Underneath that tree. We walk, and talk, about butterflies and ladybugs, but I'm talking to myself, alone. Last night, you weren't there, that's when I guessed. You're of my imagination, a character, a fiction. So you're really nobody, and i guess i'm, just strange!
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