True love has always been the ultimate goal; if you think about it.

Rolls Royces and career milestones and sculpted bodies — incomparable to finding the soul that matches yours.

And to find out it’s a hoax, a plot to destroy the compass of our minds; it stings. Like needles and bites and punches all in one.

I dream about you in fading sunlight; glittering eyes, a soft smile, warm skin. Momentary perfection. If I believed in souls colliding, it would only be a farce– for I created yours with mine. A tangled weave that I built out of nothing, into something.

I can feel it in my dreams — the realness of you. But I wake up, and reality is the only real thing, and my dreams that felt so real are the fakest of things.

Like a puppet on a string, I made you tell the story I wrote in my mind, and when I realized you were but a hollow, empty, lifeless (loveless) thing — I dropped the ties that bound you, the curtains closed, the story faded to black.

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