There is this idea that reality only exists within your own mind.

Where one cannot be sure how much of the external is real

And only your own thoughts are known for certain.

Everything else is questionable.

I wonder how much of this is a dream,

If I conjured you for some egocentric self-service,

If it is all too good to be true.

Wishes are usually too good to be true.

But maybe I am mistaken.

Maybe we are both passengers on passing vessels,

Moving parallel to each other,

Completely by chance.

For what if we are all lost and drifting;

Clinging to rafts of our own making

And floating listless upon an ocean of uncertain waves?

Faraway shores rest just beyond our reach,

And perpetual storms hover in the distant skies.

Yet among this, you stand like a beacon to my elation!

Sometimes when I gaze outward at you it is like I am seeing blue for the first time.

Like hearing music that I actually want to move to,

Like opening a tapestry woven with stardust and pearls –

A breathtaking flourish and break in the clouds.

In you, a sea of stars unfurls.

But maybe it is just a wish;

A mere hope that constellations will align

And that I can become your steadfast anchor

Or a rock that can do more than just sink.

Maybe sights would be better spent affixed to the horizon.

You are owed an apology, my dear.

You did not ask for this;

To be willed into being,

To remain a subject of admiration.

You wrestle with your own internal combat

And chart your own course.

Maybe I am just a traveler flung upon your sands

Waiting for the tide to call me back.

I question the world and if what I imagine is true.

The only thing that I am certain of is that of all the things that I’ve imagined,

My favorite thing is you.