you're real, after all

that afternoon was perfect. you were there, standing beside one of your friends, smiling... you looked so real... your smile that time was very sincere... you're plain white shirt, your hair, your hands all told me that you were real; real enough to be held, real enough to be talked to, real enough to be with.

it's very refreshing to see you as someone who's real. i guess i daydream too much... too much that sometimes, i mistake you as someone unreal...

heck. you're being real still doesn't change a thing. it doesn't make you in, nor near my league. it still doesn't change the fact that you're not with me, and will never be with me.

it's just weird when a certain moment of beauty becomes the next big nightmare that haunts you. it's like getting into a party and having your ass kicked by the same person who invited you.

i wish i wasn't there that perfect afternoon. i wish i did not see you smile. i wish your plain white shirt, your hair, your hands did not tell me that you were real; real enough to be held, real enough to be talked to, real enough to be with. i wish i went on believing that you're the same unreal person i adored.

but yes, you're real. and yes, you're not mine.