She's always been a dream to me, the heat of a blazing sun that warps air and creates illusions or a wisp of water vapor that for a moment takes a shape I ache to seize then breaks between my fingers, this desperate soul I so believed, but was deceived by, the ghost in the attic that exposed herself in moon light when I ache most and when I am most tempted to believe, a man perpetually poised at the prepadice of self deceipt needing but one poor excuse to believe again with all my heart and soul in someone who was never really real
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