We gave up on dreaming.
and long passionate kisses.
and long walks with our hands stuffed in our pockets, snow falling on our eye lashes.
for the ability to use rational discourse.
to prove we can live in someone else's expectations.
the expectation to put on a smile.
and print your documents.
and sign your checks.
so that we may biy your cars.
and your rings.
because that is what makes one important.
I have my house.
but not love.
because the love happened in between rent checks.
and credit card statements.
the love is what I bought for you to love me.
and I ask am i good enough?
and I ask if we can squeeze in an embrace between your dream and mine.
but those dreams turned into dollars and cents.
purple. green. blue.
hues that engage.
dreams that appear out of nowhere.
they are the ones that seem so outrageous.
and they stir my soul
because only the creativity can.
what is left for me to become?
I can look like your expedition.
but I would rather go on my own.
The one that didn't make sense to your normalcy.
only some dreams.
shitty metal music.
and a paintbrush.