We had dreams

or as I call them now

fantasies

we loved each other 

in all ways

inside and out

up and down

it was mad

and “perfect” but

it wasnt real

it was fantasy

it was fake

it was a beautiful memory 

that break my mind

and I hate myself for them 

we had dreams

of travel

of a wedding 

of a happily ever after

of pillow fights at midnight

of talking all night on the roof

of water gun fights

of eating a lot of food

of growing old together

of having kids

of pizzas every night

of pictures together

of walls decorated in our memories

of even dying and what would happen after

but it wasn’t real

it never happened

but it felt

as if

somewhere

somehow

everything was broken 

everything died

much like my broken rose