Almost Strangers

nonsense

today its all nonsense

my dreams this early dawn

was pathetic

But i love pathethic

pathetic and non-compulsive

he was not there

the stranger, the artist, the painter

although another almost stranger

Emailed me in my dream

I could remember the smile

given always to me by this almost stranger

Strangers, almost strangers, closures

all of them wildly partying in my dreams

Unfair, unfair for my tugging heart

Tugging me to be still

To see only this small big heart

To be owned with all mind and soul

By this tugging heart

loyal to its sway, focused on its passion

to stay beside him

until death

What about my dreams

What would I make of them?

What about my tugging heart?

The only one, which is real?

These are still questions.

Still questions