A fantasy is just that.
Time To Wake Up!
Rest in peace my shamrock fantasy. Goddesses are myths, told to entertain children and old men. You were a dream like no other--I want(ed) you so very much. Dreams that enchant your soul and enslave your heart are still just dreams, and men like me have no business dreaming them.
Maybe it was a sad kind of revenge for some ugly, horrible thing I have done.
Or perhaps a glimpse into another universe where I am man enough to hold your hand and feel you move with me. Where you want me as much as I want you.
Where, when I found my greatest treasure, I COULD have it and I WAS able to keep it. I DID have what it took and I WAS able to pay the price.
Where my heart stays full as I look into your eyes forever.
I love you with everything I am, and I will mourn your loss with a haunting, aching emptiness--I will reach for you in my sleep and hear your voice in every quiet sound--for as long as I exist. But I now except that my heart is psychotic, untrustworthy, stupid, and grossly incompetent. That for me at least; you were not, it was not and could not have ever been, real. That as much as I desperately want to keep dreaming, it is long past time for me to--I must, for my boys, figure out how to--wake up and get out of bed.
So rest in peace, my love, my precious fantasy. Rest in peace.