She came to him in his dreams,
Her golden locks cascading upon him.
She had a blood-red pout that said:
“You know I can’t be real”.
For she wasn’t. She was nothing
But the creation of his perfect woman.
She was for him and for others like him.
He could not see her any other way.
She had no mind,
Her thoughts did not belong to her
Because she was his; she was not her own.
She was nothing more than a dream.
She looked in his eyes, caressed his hair
And said to him in honey-coated voice:
“Take life by its heels. Take it with me.
Do not be afraid. Your life is me”.
She completed him and now
He cannot live without her.
If she ever leaves, he will never be whole.
Only a man with manic-pixie dreams.