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There is a trait in which I lack,
The difference between imagination and fact.
The real world consists of five senses,
Anything else is merely just offenses.
The smell of his body mixed with the smell of mine,
The warm sensation when our fingers intertwine,
The long gazes we tend to share,
The taste of desire lingering in the air,
The sound of laughter and joy,
Between me and this fictional boy.
I see him and I don’t know if he’s real,
Or if he’s just an emotion I feel.
But he does exist and loves me so.
He grabs my hand and away we go.
Wipe off that drool.
Wake up and smell the bacon.
And get ready for school.