Inception

She keeps on reminding 

herself, she's not dreaming.

The boy sitting beside her

like a Gracian statue is 

surreal, but has come to life

for her beagles and cold coffee.

She keeps on reminding

herself, she's not attempting,

to keep her gaze away from 

the stars that now have fallen

from the stupefying sky that 

have raised lightbolt hope in her.

She keeps on reminding 

herself, she's not devising

her last few parting words 

which had never left her lips 

in that inhospitable hospital bed

because his soul has come back to life.

love will 

never be an ideal art,

it's messy, mediocre and mashed

onto a canvas of forevers and eternity.

Even, the dismal shades cover corners,

Even the purest illuminations doesn't

gleam perpetually, for this is a

flawless ailment of hearts 

and you'll become 

ғᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ.

She keeps on reminding 

herself, she's not a misfit or

unfurling the pages of her journal;

that time has been leaped from 

to dance into the path of 

red string bound souls.

She keeps on reminding 

herself, she daydreams often

the parchment letter ripped 

by her own hands, slipping 

from her touch and onto the 

lemongrass was just a dream.

A dream within a dream....