Why does dreams feel so real and contented?
If only real life was even half as contented.
I close my eyes and enter the world I never want to wake up from.
There is a big house, a big family, but just a small world.
A world that belongs only to me.
I enter my house on my bicycle, coming back from my workplace.
Wearing a jeans and a t-shirt, and my shoulder length open hair waving like the crazy waves in the ocean, and a silly, fell in love smile on my glossy but smooth lips.
The person I supposedly love lives on the ground floor of my house as a tenant.
I'm smiling silly just on the thought that I'm about to be in his warm embrace.
I get off my bicycle, take my t-shirt off and was about to enter his room but it starts opening even before I touch the door.
I'm expecting to see the face that I'm longing for.
But the door opens and comes out an old and strange man whom I don't know and so many noises from inside the room.