Hello everyone. This'll most likely be the last thing I upload onto here, but hey, it's been fun.

I really do hope you enjoy this.

Love & Dreams

Curdling rain down my window avenue – thought I'd heard you in the radio.

Sleep fled from reach – probably believes, too, that I shouldn't be alone tonight. 19th birthday – parents away, friends invited but I didn't feel like entertaining tonight. Not tonight, not tonight when you're on my mind, tonight.

I wanted it all – that's why I invited you, and you must've sensed it. It all being a meeting with you without the alibi of working.

Maybe there should've been a stronger fight fought on my side; after all, there was a sense of intensity, when our hands touched in that hand wrestle.

Thinking like this isn't going to escape me from insomnia.

Long lace lines streak through the outside space, like tense violin strings. The strings then warped unstrung, ricocheting lamppost orange glow. Contrasting moonlight calmed the scene in a white hue, relieving me, inspiring me, building hope within me.

Maybe you could love me.

But hope, a hope is all it is, and that same hope is all hope will ever be.

I walked across the empty room, empty except myself. Living room: dark; television glow, late night movie – not even that late.

A farewell kiss sorrows the screen with a goodbye fitting for the beginning. Bored, a glance to the mirror – I'm looking quite cute tonight, considering. I smirk to no-one – you always find my vanity funny.

A knock resounded throughout the hallway outside, and my ears perked like a cat's. I appeared before the door, and it swung open magically. I love you.

The coincidence seemed unreal – even the coincidences of a love story.

It was you. I love you. I was in my sleeping clothes. I love you.

The next scene: we eat dinner; you're nice and beautiful, and wonderful and delightful, and beautiful. Your hair drops down slightly as you nod your head down, stealing quickly, the sound flourishing out the violin poised within your graceful grasp. I love you.

I applaud, of course. I love you. You smile, of course.

Me, crossed legs. You, politely straight; I love you.

That same, shitty movie, the exact parts once more; even the rain outside mimicked earlier, and the moon, too; Bastards.

"I'm enjoying this, but I don't understand" You say out-of-nowhere-ly.

"I shouldn't be alone with you tonight" You continue to sing, out-of-the-blue-ly.

You're sincere. I stupidly hide behind lies: "I know I'm way too cool for you, but I thought it'd be fun"

A laugh from you, but I wish you're masking, too.

"Give me your hand" 'In your eyes there is a sign of intensity', I hear Dina Carroll sing from the window.

"No need to hide from the way you feel inside" You breathe your part.

"I feel your shirt, and your heart; and it's going really fast"

My eyes must've seemed like a statue's, but in colour. You gave a sigh, that sigh the bad guys do in murder mystery stories when they're about to confess.

'If only for tonight, don't be a stranger' Dina floated through the glass, perfectly in tune with the melody.

"I want to take a chance, risk it all for you" We partially ignored her, absorbing the words with our ears.

Duet in full bloom, you both finish and she whooshes away on her pink amphibious jetpack. "Tai – I need to know if I've just been imagining the signs you've been sending"

You're beautiful. Everything's beautiful about you. But why won't these words escape me, even now? Aren't they true? They feel true. What's wrong with me? I've perhaps gone crazy. Your eyes stare into mine with desperation – who knew it'd be this way.

My tears brim to their shore, the smell of the words inside me expiring, and the touch of pinched cloth beneath folded arms. I suppose the tears are something escaping, at least. Now yours begin – probably think I don't think of you all the time, imagine us together, about how your perfection would make me look bad but would be worth it a million times over a million.

We were in the television screen now.

You probably think I don't love you.

In full black and white.

But love, that's exactly what I do you.

Taking chances of my own, incredible chances; simple fingers which so rarely reach out, reach out, reach out and caress paleness. Trailing to your salty tonight lips from tears;

But it wasn't your face. It was my pillow.

"Feeling this, but hiding feeling this; it feels like I'm an undercover cop – but dishonest, like guarding yet also trying to steal the Mona Lisa"

And those words didn't reach you; only my pillow.

I should've known – not when Dina Carroll shot off on her pink, amphibious jetpack, but when you were at my door; for that's more impossible that anything. I hate dreams. I'll always act as if it were real. Everyone does – its subconscious. Though some things remain completely unreachable, entirely fictional -

Even in sleep I can't escape, but I can't escape I won't cry for the dreams of yesterday.

I walked across the empty room, empty except myself. Living room: dark; television glow, late night movie – not even that late.

Curdling rain down my window avenue – thought I'd heard you in the radio.