You were the closest thing to magic -
a glittering *almost*,
a beautiful *what-if*,
the kind of dream that lingers
long after waking.
I knew you were never mine,
not really,
not in the way that matters.
But for a little while,
I let myself pretend.
Now the curtain falls,
the lights dim,
and I'm left with this:
gratitude for the fantasy,
and an ache for the reality
that will never be.