Dreaming.

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It’s what I did best.

I always dreamt dreams, the vivid images of hope surrounding me.

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Dreams of bliss, and dreams of success.

Dreams of happiness, and dreams of life.

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And then I woke I woke up.

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Was it always a nightmare?

Was it always this harsh?

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How could the vivid turn gray, and how could the the hope turn empty?

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When did the leaves start falling?

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When did I stop dreaming?