To the nights when I read more than I talk,
Think more than I should,
And wish more than possible.
To when I stare out past the ends of my hands,
Towards the things that will always stay two steps away.
To the moments when I realize I'm wrong about you.
To the wishes that won't come true.
To knowing when I'm really ready.
Ready to sleep,
To dream,
To soar.
Ready to take on the thoughts that taint
And taunt
Without fail.
To those cold, though provoking nights
That replace agony
With pretend monsters.
To the nights filled with longing
For one simple savior
In the form of a light
On a blackened dream.
To all of you,
We all wish to much.
I'll still think it through,
But I'll never stop reading about the tales,
The adventures,
The joy,
We could never have.
