Writing in my dreams

So I’m a writer and I mostly write poems, songs and last years started writing a pitch for a tv-show.. but couple nights ago I had this vivid dream about this person, who looked familiar but at the same time looked like a stranger.. and they were writing about an ex, who broke up with them and when I woke up I felt the heartbreak that person was feeling and remembered what they were writing too. It’s just weird that hole day I felt like someone broke up with me..
 
It’s not poem but this is what the person was writing:
„I’m out with my friends having one of the best nights of my life and still you’re the only thing I can think about. I know we don’t talk anymore but I have so much to say. I still here your laugh from time to time and it makes me happy and sad because I love your laughter but I miss it too.

Nights are still the worst, I always hope you’d be coming in after me but you never do and in the morning I hope your face is first thing I see but you’re not here„
 

VixR

Veritas
It’s common. I’ve woken up from dreams feeling the emotion of what I dreamt to the extent of crying, or being in an amazing mood.
 
It is normal. People can be supper creative when in a mental state of trance.

This one time @VixR was asking me to come with her to Panama, god only knows why, and the whole next day I thought we were going there for real!
 
This one isn’t really that deep but: it’s my first from 2 years ago...
„Love comes
Love goes
Held you in my arms
and loved you with all my heart
Thought we were meant to be
but you still chose him over me

I hope he gives you what I couldn’t
loves you the way I didn’t
Kisses you the way I wanted
And treats you way I would’ve “
 
„A love that was never loved
a love that was never felt
a love that that was never tasted
a love that was based on what if’s
was ist love?“
 

Basra

LOVE is none smelly Dhuuso.
Let Them Eat Cake
VIP
I felt the eyes, but never the touch,
Dark eyes sticking out from white thunder,
intensely interested, and wanting what is lost,
in a crowd of London at maghrib rash hour,
His beloved never a clue, as they whisked asunder,
and myself relieved he never made a scene.
Farewell, blush & rash my face serene!
 

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