A Dream That Is Not Mine

I know you will never be mine, but still, I gather the silence of the night, fold it into the shape of your smile, and close my eyes to imagine how beautiful it would be if we were together. I see us walking, your hand in mine, as if the world were a gentle breeze and not the storm it has always been. Your laughter fills the spaces between my ribs, making my chest feel less like a cage and more like a home. We sit beneath a sky painted with stars that do not judge, and the earth listens quietly as I tell you stories of the boy I was before I learned how to lose. But I know this dream is a thief, stealing moments I was never meant to own. You will never be mine, and yet, I carry you in every heartbeat, as though my veins were rivers flowing only toward you. In another life, perhaps, you would have turned to me and said, "This is where we begin." But in this life, I am a shadow chasing the sun, a poet writing verses for a muse who does not hear them. Still, I close my eyes. Still, I dream. For even the smallest lie can sometimes hold the most beautiful truth.