Life for the ideal, death to the real

I have a confession. I haven't wanted to find you. Not really, not truly.

The thing is, I have this fear of reality. If you are real, I guess that means I am afraid of you too.

It’s not reality itself, it’s the death of idealism. You can't have both. That’s what makes each their own. 

I have pushed the idea of you so far up in the clouds it has an essence of its own. That's the trouble with dreaming, sometimes when it's time to face the facts those dreams carry on with a life of their own.

I’m afraid that when I find you I’ll forget all those beautiful words I made while trying to look for you. Being without you made me an artist. What will I be when I have you? Content? Contentedness brews nothing but a nice pot of coffee, creates nothing but a smile. Wanting so bad made me look so hard and I found incredible things.

Will I forget to see when you’re with me?

This magic place of searching ceases when I find. Deep down I don’t want to find you because I long to be, forever, in that magical place of searching, of waiting, of loving every moment because that’s all I have.

To have or not to have? Is it better to be with or without? With you I lose the ideal and without you I lose all that is real. 

If you come…when you do, I will have to leave these dreams where they lie and carry on with you. It might be fine at first, I may forget about those dreams but after a while, almost certainly, I will come to ponder the differences. I will think about those afternoons that felt like lullabies when I knew the best was yet to come, like the day before christmas. I’ll realize that day has come, the one that I had envisioned and I’ll ask myself, “is this all that I imagined it to be?” And the answer will most certainly be no. No. Because how could it? Then, my love, I’ll look at you differently. I'll start to lose sight of the “you” that I love and i’ll just look right through you to what you really are, a killer of dreams. 

So you see, I can't meet you because I’m sure you are one of the most beautiful humans, a true treasure. I’d hate to do all that to you. 

So I go on dreaming in the late afternoon when the breeze is just right, in the first hours of morning when the light streams in through the shutters, and every new place I lay my eyes on, I’ll be thinking of you.

It's too bad that we will never be able to meet.