The 'you' I dream of always sees me near,
But the real 'you' won’t even glance, I fear.

The 'you' I imagine longs to talk to me,
But the real 'you' speaks only out of need, casually.

The 'you' in my mind loves me true and deep,
But the real 'you' leaves wounds that silently seep.

In crowds, the 'you' I dream of seeks my face,
But the real 'you' ignores me,
even in an empty place.

Why this difference, so cold, so stark?
Between the dream and the truth,
Why such a dark—
distant mark?