I had a dream about you last night.
We went to a library-
there was some party in the back but we kept to ourselves in the shelves.
It felt so nice–
we were finally flirty,
finally so playful!
There was an ease and joy that every encounter
always seemed to lack.
But even still,
we were nothing.
You only wanted the physical-
wanted to see others even, together.
I got it, then.
But I hated it, too.
Even in my own sleep-filled stories you do not really want me.
Only in dreams do we have a spark.
And I know now,
this is the way it had to be.