Last night, I dreamt of you,
like every other night.
This time, I couldn't picture you,
but only think of you.
Looking for you in the middle of an isolated island,
I couldn't find you there, like I would, in every other dream.
I knew that you were gone, for ever now,
and that I won't be dreaming of you anymore.
While walking, I stepped on some bits of paper,
It had engrossed the curves of your handwriting over itself.
I bent down, focusing my body weight on my knees,
to gather the scattered pieces of treasure.
My hands travelled all the way down,
to pick up the pieces your thoughts.
Torn, worn out, scattered, just like my heart,
I tried arranging them like you once arranged my messed up thoughts.
I couldn't do it the way you did,
but I didn't give up anyway.
I didn't know which word belonged to which position,
so I tried placing them according to the words that could make sense.
"I wish to be home, in your arms, and I don't want to feel hurt anymore."
They didn't make sense to me, as two words were still left not arranged-not and be.
"I wish to be home, not feel hurt and I don't want to be in your arms anymore."
I woke up just then.
Tell me if it was a nightmare, or the truth you never told me.