why be a realist when you can dream

the realist that is not me
doesn't often see the things others see
I see the sun going down
more than just a sunset
a friday night
that didn't live up to its promise
where is the optimism
that need fill such euphoric times
where is the need to write prose
that invites the sublime
I'm strangely alone
surrounded by love
still a spoiled child
who can't get enough
still can't find quite the right words to express...............
these complex emotions
nevertheless, I'll continue to dream
for the realist that is not me
is so blessed to be able to see
it's dreams that shape
this dreamer's reality

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