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Rated: E · Poetry · Personal · #263774
a strange poem but my favourite that i wrote without thinking!!
If dreaming's an illusion,
then are you not real?
I feel I see you,
I'm sure I know you.
But my mind's playing tricks again.

Every night I meet you,
Underneath that tree.
We walk, and talk,
about butterflies and ladybugs,
but I'm talking to myself, alone.

Last night, you weren't there,
that's when I guessed.
You're of my imagination,
a character, a fiction.
So you're really nobody,

and i guess i'm, just strange!
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Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/263774-Butterflies-and-Ladybugs