sitting on my couch, gazing at the plain white wall
looking at the colorful picture, visible only to my eye.
It was more than just an imagination,
It was my dream.
Bright blue sky,
Sweet chirping birds fly,
Small red roof wooden house on mountain bly,
Fresh green leaves budding,
Pointing the cusp of winter and spring,
Creaking the wooden rocking chair,
Humming the radio music on air,
Me finding comfort in you like no where.
Just like these rhymes, life seemed sweet and nice,
My imaginations were so fancy,
Time and seasons had no binding,
Limit was beyond the last visible star of the universe.
Why was I fond of these imaginations?
Why I built a world of my own creation?
For all, what I had of us, was just these visions with no life.
When you were my dream, you were mine.