A suburban house with a white picket fence.
Toys strewn all over the yard.
A refrigerator encompassed in artwork.
Waking up each morning to...
Two wonderful kids.
One boy, one girl.
A woman that I love.
Who loves me back.
At some point you come to a realization.
That you're still sleeping.
At some point you wake up.
And find out it wasn't real.
We fight to get back to our dream.
To dream once more.
But we lay there.
And know it it will not come.
Then the dream is lost.
Try and try and try as we may to remember.
Left only with a vague memory of what was.
And soon it is gone.
It is that point that you let go.
For you already have.
It is that point that it fades into history.
And you forget.
Because dreams are fake.
Not meant for our waking hours.
Which are filled with truth.
That dreams do not come true.
Well I am awake now.
What was it that I dreamt?
I want to remember.
But we both know.
It's time to let go.
It's inevitable.