I had forgotten what it was like to love beauty. All these dreams I had had of this individual elegance that never quite fit into the party it wasn’t invited to.
Was I stuck in an old-fashioned state of mind? Did I dream too much, too soon?
I would watch these people, saddened, and wonder if I had missed something crucial. Why didn’t they wear something beautiful? Ornate? Why didn’t I make an example of my beliefs?
Was it because I was trapped in a place with just two of us, with no escape to a happier world, which I know exists. You have a solid future yet a complex. I’m still trying to figure out if that’s a blessing or a curse. I think it’s a curse.
But my dreams are different from yours. They exist. And there’s nothing wrong with dreaming. It’s this culmination of love, hope, and happiness. And in a society filled with emotional escapists, dreams were the least disfiguring.
I wont ever consider your realities as something wondrous, but I can accept the fact of your love and hope and happiness that appears when you talk of it, and that is more than what you will ever do for me.