I dream about things as if they had already happened. Things like the way you hold me, beneath. Things like long walks. Like words spoken. Like feelings felt. I pretend what is pretended to be real. And sometimes they feel like they truly are. I dream about things in order to make me feel. These things to make me happy. To make me hopeful, finally. And sometimes they work. Up until the moment I realize because I've been pretending the pretended, my entire existence would have been a pretense as well. This along with my dreams, my long walks, my words spoken, my feelings felt.
How many layers of pretense do I have to dive into before I lose myself completely?