Maybe she's still there,
waiting for my return.
Her aged yet beautiful
smile looked more wonderful
as years have gone.
And my silly antics—
and I, still searching
for ways to make
her ever more worried.
Maybe these were all
an unwanted, unspoken dream
everyone had to have.
And when the theatrics
are done and over,
curtains lowered and lights
all open, the shadows
in the background dancing,
the cheering have peaked,
and the end credits,
finally reached their end:
a fool-looking clown appears,
In my own shape,
mirrors all my trivialities,
and speaking in a
much, much lower voice.
Every audience grows quiet,
as do all actors.
The clown speaks loudly:
"You are still asleep.
Dream, this all is.
Do not be afraid.
"Nothing that happens now
is real. Don’t cry.
Do not waste tears.
This isn't the reality.
You're having a dream.
Nothing more. Nothing less.
"Enjoy everything you've seen.
Learn, understand, and give
more meaning to moments.
"This is a valuable
lesson you are privileged
to witness and take;
grow from this tragedy.
"This isn't your end.
"She's still there waiting."
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