Forever Yours

Forever Yours, In the Land of Dreams
An open letter from the world of reality

My love,
Even now, when I close my eyes, I can still feel you near.
There’s a space inside me that echoes your name,
and though the world moves on, that part of me stands still—
aching, listening, waiting for a voice
I know I will never hear again.
It wasn’t a long encounter, not by the measure of days or years.
The world of reality offered us just one cool afternoon.
But something happened in those fleeting hours.
You took my hand, and I forgot everything else.
Your voice was calm water, rippling gently over my soul,
and your eyes—oh, your eyes—
they saw me, didn’t they? They really saw me.
I lost myself in that gaze,
and without meaning to,
without realizing the cost,
I followed you.
We walked and talked as if time didn’t exist.
My feet moved, but I couldn’t tell you where we were headed—
not because I wasn’t paying attention,
but because the destination didn’t matter.
You were beside me.
That was all I cared about.
Then I saw it.
A sign—so bold, so clear—
“You’re entering the Land of Dreams.”
And still, I didn’t pause.
Why would I?
The world of dreams had you in it.
How could I resist?
You didn’t pull me.
You didn’t force me.
You simply invited me in.
Your words were an open door,
your smile a soft breeze pushing me across the threshold.
And once I stepped in,
once I tasted the sweetness of being loved by you—
or what felt like love—
I couldn’t turn back.
You kissed me that day,
softly, as if sealing a promise.
And I believed you.
Every part of me believed you.
I remained with you there, in the land of dreams,
because it was beautiful.
Because you made me feel alive.
Because your words—those tender, deliberate words—
told me we belonged together.
And I wanted to believe in belonging.
But dreams can be tricky places.
They whisper what you want to hear.
They paint pictures in soft light,
where the zagged edges of truth hides in the shadows.
Even as we built a world together there,
I would sometimes slip.
A word would jolt me.
A pause in your voice.
A silence that felt just a little too cold.
And I’d fall—tumbling back into the world of reality,
confused, aching, doubting everything.
But then, you’d speak again.
Your voice was all it took.
You’d say just enough,
just the right words,
and I’d come running back—
like a child chasing a balloon
that keeps floating just out of reach.
It was always just out of reach, wasn’t it?
For a time, I didn’t care.
I would’ve lived in your dream forever
if it meant being near you.
But dreams aren’t built to hold real hearts.
And mine—mine was beginning to break.
Where are you now, my love?
When the nights are quiet,
and sleep refuses to come,
I reach for you in the dark,
but the space beside me is always empty.
You, who taught me to dream again,
you, who promised forever in a world that was never real—
I wonder if you even miss me at all.
Or was I just another visitor in your kingdom of illusion?
Another believer in your carefully woven tale?
I had to leave,
not because I stopped loving you,
but because I finally started loving me.
The land of dreams couldn’t hold me anymore.
Not when I saw the cracks beneath the gloss.
Not when I began to recognize
that what I mistook for love was something else—
a spell, maybe. A fog.
I came home to myself,
but I did not come back whole.
That part of me—
the part that danced in your dream,
the part that believed in “us”—
she stayed behind.
I suppose she always will.
There’s a saying:
“Home is where the heart is.”
And so I must admit,
a piece of my heart still lives in that dream,
still waits for you to return.
But the rest of me?
The rest of me is here,
learning to breathe again in the air of truth.
I cry for you still.
Not because I want you back,
but because the memory is beautiful,
and beautiful things leave marks
even when they fade.
So if you ever wonder—
if you ever search the stars
or feel a tug in your chest
on a quiet night—
know that someone loved you once
with a depth you may never understand.
And though she no longer walks your dream beside you,
she carries the ache of your name
like a faded rose
pressed between the pages of a book
called A Walk in the Fog.
Forever yours,
from the other side of the veil,
in the world of reality—
where I now live,
and sometimes still whisper your name. 

Yours Forever