I live in a world of delusions and artistry,
where every work is an interpretation
of my imagination.
And my imagination has no bounds;
It neither has a beginning nor an end.
He is the vision, a reality based diversion --
nameless, faceless, voiceless --
and exists only to feed the scenarios
invented to accommodate this work,
this piece of dynamic art based on delusion
and imagination. And yet, I feel nothing.
There is a world which knows nothing
of the freedom imagination affords;
I refuse to live there. Still,
I want the fortitude to live among the brave
who dare to love freely and exclusively so.
As an answer to my wish,
I discovered that I am a part of that world.
After all, I feel something real, something tangible --
the tightening chest, the quickening breath --.
it isn't a delusion; it is real as he has become real.
He even have a name, a face, a voice;
and I hear every word he speaks
as if these were words I heard for the first time.
But if he asked, I will categorically deny I love him,
because I fear my heart will be broken
before our affair has begun.