There are no reasons why I love you,
There is only the way in which you have touched me
In a place of my existence that I never knew existed.
How could I have known?
No one has ever touched
Nor seen nor felt its reality.
No one has ever revealed it to me before.
And now I am awakened.
How can it be that you alone have found it?
Perhaps, it is a dream, your dream,
Of that which only you alone have sought
And yet, not a dream
And not alone, as I too, have sought it.
Perhaps the dream is not what we see or seek
Or even dream but that
The dreams of our reality can be real.
Can reality ever be more than we may dream?
Can dreams ever be more real
Than we may make them?
I am but a specter of reality
Born from the places of your dreams
Which are alive and do not live because
You give them no life, making them unreal.
But my reality is that I love you
In dreams much greater than I have yet to dream
And in a reality much more real
Than I can ever make it.
And in all of this,
I know there are no reasons
Why I love you,
I only know
The reality of that I do.
