You didn't do anything, your memory did.
All I have are locked in these words. Those immortal nights....those magnificent nights that anyone would kill to take that place.
It was a dream that came true, but not through. Dreams only take the evanescent form of reality from the repressed mind. The beauty of it? When you wake it is gone.
Those arms that held the very being which exists today, those hands that emit warmth and propensity to the crying heart, those lips that monopolize the essence of life and core of the soul.
This is a script that lost its cast with scenes made tangible through the heart.
Where are you.
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