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Almost mine.

JustLikeADream

JustLikeADream

The dream
Posting Freak
You plucked a flower,
and I thought it was for me,
until I saw the same spring
blooming in your other hand.

You sang a song,
and I mistook it for our melody,
until I heard its echoes
living in someone else’s memory.

You wrote a poem,
and I thought my heart inspired the ink,
until I learned that some verses
are written for hearts we never meet.

You spoke with a warmth
that made my cold world breathe,
and I mistook you for the fire
until I saw you selling warmth
to every soul beneath your sun.

I was never the exception,
only a heart that arrived too late
to recognise the difference
between a gift and a habit.

~Jaanu​
 
Perhaps the saddest realisation is that the warmth was real, the flowers were beautiful, and the song was lovely. Only the meaning we attached to them was different. Sometimes, we aren't deceived by someone's actions; we are deceived by the hope that we meant something different.
 
JustLikeADream said:
You plucked a flower,
and I thought it was for me,
until I saw the same spring
blooming in your other hand.

You sang a song,
and I mistook it for our melody,
until I heard its echoes
living in someone else’s memory.

You wrote a poem,
and I thought my heart inspired the ink,
until I learned that some verses
are written for hearts we never meet.

You spoke with a warmth
that made my cold world breathe,
and I mistook you for the fire
until I saw you selling warmth
to every soul beneath your sun.

I was never the exception,
only a heart that arrived too late
to recognise the difference
between a gift and a habit.

~Jaanu​
Click to expand...
The greatest mistake happens when we mistake someone's habitual warmth for a special affection meant only for us.
 
JustLikeADream said:
You plucked a flower,
and I thought it was for me,
until I saw the same spring
blooming in your other hand.

You sang a song,
and I mistook it for our melody,
until I heard its echoes
living in someone else’s memory.

You wrote a poem,
and I thought my heart inspired the ink,
until I learned that some verses
are written for hearts we never meet.

You spoke with a warmth
that made my cold world breathe,
and I mistook you for the fire
until I saw you selling warmth
to every soul beneath your sun.

I was never the exception,
only a heart that arrived too late
to recognise the difference
between a gift and a habit.

~Jaanu​
Click to expand...
Nice
 
JustLikeADream said:
You plucked a flower,
and I thought it was for me,
until I saw the same spring
blooming in your other hand.

You sang a song,
and I mistook it for our melody,
until I heard its echoes
living in someone else’s memory.

You wrote a poem,
and I thought my heart inspired the ink,
until I learned that some verses
are written for hearts we never meet.

You spoke with a warmth
that made my cold world breathe,
and I mistook you for the fire
until I saw you selling warmth
to every soul beneath your sun.

I was never the exception,
only a heart that arrived too late
to recognise the difference
between a gift and a habit.

~Jaanu​
Click to expand...

Nice! Sometimes, what feels special to us is simply someone’s nature. A bittersweet reminder that not every warmth is meant just for us... :) ​
 
JustLikeADream said:
You plucked a flower,
and I thought it was for me,
until I saw the same spring
blooming in your other hand.

You sang a song,
and I mistook it for our melody,
until I heard its echoes
living in someone else’s memory.

You wrote a poem,
and I thought my heart inspired the ink,
until I learned that some verses
are written for hearts we never meet.

You spoke with a warmth
that made my cold world breathe,
and I mistook you for the fire
until I saw you selling warmth
to every soul beneath your sun.

I was never the exception,
only a heart that arrived too late
to recognise the difference
between a gift and a habit.

~Jaanu​
Click to expand...
Sad, but i am not sure for what. Is it because it was written for everyone else too, or is it because it was not written for you...
 
JustLikeADream said:
You plucked a flower,
and I thought it was for me,
until I saw the same spring
blooming in your other hand.

You sang a song,
and I mistook it for our melody,
until I heard its echoes
living in someone else’s memory.

You wrote a poem,
and I thought my heart inspired the ink,
until I learned that some verses
are written for hearts we never meet.

You spoke with a warmth
that made my cold world breathe,
and I mistook you for the fire
until I saw you selling warmth
to every soul beneath your sun.

I was never the exception,
only a heart that arrived too late
to recognise the difference
between a gift and a habit.

~Jaanu​
[/QUOTE
JustLikeADream said:
You plucked a flower,
and I thought it was for me,
until I saw the same spring
blooming in your other hand.

You sang a song,
and I mistook it for our melody,
until I heard its echoes
living in someone else’s memory.

You wrote a poem,
and I thought my heart inspired the ink,
until I learned that some verses
are written for hearts we never meet.

You spoke with a warmth
that made my cold world breathe,
and I mistook you for the fire
until I saw you selling warmth
to every soul beneath your sun.

I was never the exception,
only a heart that arrived too late
to recognise the difference
between a gift and a habit.

~Jaanu​
Click to expand...
Click to expand...
 
JustLikeADream said:
You plucked a flower,
and I thought it was for me,
until I saw the same spring
blooming in your other hand.

You sang a song,
and I mistook it for our melody,
until I heard its echoes
living in someone else’s memory.

You wrote a poem,
and I thought my heart inspired the ink,
until I learned that some verses
are written for hearts we never meet.

You spoke with a warmth
that made my cold world breathe,
and I mistook you for the fire
until I saw you selling warmth
to every soul beneath your sun.

I was never the exception,
only a heart that arrived too late
to recognise the difference
between a gift and a habit.

~Jaanu​
Click to expand...
We knock desperately on a door believing it is the entrance to a sanctuary built just for us only to discover it is a public turnstile where everyone is granted the same fleeting entry. The ultimate sentence is not that we were deceived but that we mistook a universal machine for a personal miracle.
 
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