Dreams are not supposed to be real,

but mine was.

She came to me each day

and like a pen to paper,

wrote upon the pages of my life.

She wrote with her love

in deep broad strokes

filling the empty spaces,

and coloring them with happiness.

Her dreams, wishes, and love

filled my pages.

Her words danced

across my heart.

She began and ended each day,

and filled my dreams at night.

Then, like waves on the shore,

her love washed the pages clean,

and never wrote again.