the product of imagination.

Perfection lingers intangibly in every direction I turn.

It is so incredibly beautiful

Completely surreal

And absolutely breathtaking.

When the fog dissipates

And the rosy glass becomes clear

I frantically huff breaths on the glass until the condensation briefly satisfies me

Before realizing

Resurrection does not revive a null existence

Reality conjured a mirage of perfection that does not exist beyond the boundaries of our minds.

That night I would go to bed knowing

The pseudo fog created by my breaths cannot alter the reality that perfection was never there on the other side of the glass.