Maybe she recounts the monsters of her dreams.
Maybe those are her escaping reality.
Maybe she's waiting for someone that'll,
bend all common senses,
outdream her,
drain her of parallel worlds.
Maybe that's why her stories end in rains.
And maybe, just maybe, the morning will come.
—g.s.
YOU ARE READING
Dreaming Out Loud
PoetryJust a little big dreamer chanting miracles. I go by glendasogo in Instagram. Cheers.
