Is it foolish of me
to believe,
to hope,
to wish,
that this story
we've written
on these blank sheets,
could ever
live,
strive,
and survive,
beyond the thin line
that stretches
in between,
between the edges of
reality and surreality?
Strike me on the cheek
if you will,
if you wish to wake me up
from this foolish dream,
or if you will not,
then cover my eyes
with your hands
and just let me sink
into a deep slumber,
under deep.
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